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BOOKS BY HENRY VAN DYKE 

Potu»hidbt CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 


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3 ^ 

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1 




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-V'/.-v., .;. 




In the City of Saloma 






THE BLUE FLOWER 


BY 

HENRY VAN DYKE 


The desire of the moth for the star. 
Of the night for the morrow, 

The devotion to something afar 
From the sphere of our sorrow. 

— Shelley 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 

MDCCCCXV, 


Copyright, 1902 , by Charles Scribner's Sojis 


Published, October, tqoz. Reprinted, December, tqo 3 ; 
March, October, iQoj; April, October, JQ04; July, 
iqoj; July, igo6; September, iipj; July, igoS; May, 
November, igog; January, September, iqii; Juiy, 
iqi2 ; April, IQ13 ; April, igi4; December, igi4; 
May, jgiy. 

Leather Edition, Septejnber, igti. 
Reprinted, July, igJJ. 



w:o 

THE DEAR MEMORY OF 

BERNARD VAN DYKE 
1887-189T 


AWD THE LOVE THAT LIVES 
BEYOND THE YEARS 



\ 


PREFACE 


Sometimes short stories are brought together 
like parcels in a basket. Sometimes they grow to- 
gether like blossoms on a bush. Then, of course, 
they really belong to one another, because they have 
the same life in them. 

The stories in this book have been growing to- 
gether for a long time. It is at least ten years 
since the first of them, the story of The Other Wise 
Marty came to me ; and all the others I knew quite 
well by heart a good while before I could find the 
time, in a hard-worked life, to write them down 
and try to make them clear and true to others. It 
has been a slow task, because the right word has 
not always been easy to find, and I wanted to keep 
free from conventionality in the thought and close 
to nature in the picture. It is enough to cause a 
man no little shame to see how small is the fruit 
of so long labour. 

Ajid yet, after all, when one wishes to write 


PREFACE 


about life, especially about that part of it which 
is inward, the inwrought experience of living may 
be of value. And that is a thing which one cannot 
get in haste, neither can it be made to order. Pa- 
tient waiting belongs to it ; and rainy days belong 
to it ; and the best of it sometimes comes in the 
doing of tasks that seem not to amount to much. 
So in the long run, I suppose, while delay and 
failure and interruption may keep a piece of work 
very small, yet in the end they enter into the qual- 
ity of it and bring it a little nearer to the real thing, 
which is always more or less of a secret. 

But the strangest part of it all is the way in 
which a single thought, an idea, will live with a 
man while he works, and take new forms from year 
to year, and light up the things that he sees and 
hears, and lead his imagination by the hand into 
many wonderful and diverse regions. It seems to 
me that there are two ways in which you may give 
unity to a book of stories. You may stay in one 
place and write about different themes, pieserving 
viii 


PREFACE 

always the colom' of the same locality. Or you 
may go into different places and use as many of the 
colours and shapes of life as you can really see in 
the light of the same thought. 

There is such a thought in this book. It is the 
idea of the search for inward happiness, which all 
men who are really alive are following, along what 
various paths, and with what different fortunes ! 
Glimpses of this idea, traces of this search, I 
thought that I could see in certain tales that were 
in my mind, — tales of times old and new, of lands 
near and far away. So I tried to tell them, as best 
as I could, hoping that other men, being also seekers, 
might find some meaning in them. 

There are only little, broken chapters from the 
long story of life. None of them is taken from other 
books. Only one of them — the stoiy of Winifried 
and the Thunder- Oak — ^has the slightest wisp of a 
foundation in fact or legend. Yet I think they are 
all true. 

But how to find a name for such a book,— ^ 

ix 


PREFACE 

name that will tell enough to show the thought 
and jet not too much to leave it free? I have 
borrowed a symbol from the old German poet and 
philosopher, Novalis^ to stand instead of a name. 
The Blue Flower which he used in his romance of 
Heinrich von Ofterdmgen to symbolise Poetry, the 
object of his young hero’s quest, I have used here 
to signify happiness, the satisfaction of the heart. 

Reader, will you take the book and see if it belongs 
to you ? Whether it does or not, my wish is that 
the Blue Flower may grow in the garden where you 
work. 

Avaidk, 

December 1, 1902. 


CONTENTS 


/. 

The Blue Flower^ 

1 

IL 

The Source 

9 

III. 

The Mill 

89 

IV. 

Spy Roch 

73 

V. 

Wood-Magic 

127 

VI. 

The Other Wise Man v 

149 

VII. 

A Handful of Clay ) 

199 

VIII. 

The Lost Word / 

207 

IX. 

The First Christmas-Tree 

269 


\ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


In the City of Salovia Frontispiece 

From a drawing by J, R. Weguelin. 

Facing 

She murmured again and again the beautiful 

name 34* 

From a drawing by J. R. Wegudm. 

Surely this is it^"* and she brought him a spray 
of blue-bells 64 

From a drawing by F, V. DuMond, 

^‘Good-bye^ old cabin! Good-bye^ the rivers! 

Good-byCy the woodsT 138 

From a drawing by Arthur Heming. 

Then the old marCs lips began to move 196 

From a drawing by Howard Pyle. 

*’^Take this to John of Antioch and tell him it 

is a gft from his former pupiV'' 238 

From a drawing by C. K. Linson. 

The fields around lay bare to the moon 278 

From a drawing by Howard Pyle. 

It poised for an instant above the child'' s fair 
head — death cruel and imminent 
From a drawing by Hoioard PyU. 


288 






THE BLUE FLOWER 



THE BLUE FLOWER 


'I’HE parents were abed and sleeping. The clock 
on the wall ticked loudly and lazily, as if it had 
time to spare. Outside the rattling windows there 
was a restless, whispering wind. The room grew 
light, and dark, and wondrous light again, 
as the moon played hide-and-seek through the 
clouds. The boy, wide-awake and quiet in his bed, 
was thinking of the Stranger and his stories. 

“It was not what he told me about the treas- 
ures,” he said to himself, “that was not the thing 
which filled me with so strange a longing. I am not 
greedy for riches. But the Blue Flower is what I 
long for. I can think of nothing else. Never have 
I felt so before. It seems as if I had been dreaming 
until now — or as if I had just slept over into a 
new world. 

“ Who cared for flowers in the old world where 
I used to live.^ I never heard of anyone whose 
whole heart was set upon finding a flower. But now 
I cannot even tell all that I feel — sometimes as 
3 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
happy as if I were enchanted. But when the flower 
fades from me, when I cannot see it in my mind, 
then it is like being very thirsty and all alone. That 
is what the other people could not understand. 

“Once upon a time, they say, the animals and 
the trees and the flowers used to talk to people. It 
seems to me, every minute, as if they were just 
going to begin again. When I look at them I can 
see what they want to sa3^ There must be a great 
many words that I do not know ; if I knew more of 
them perhaps I could understand things better. I 
used to love to dance, but now I like better to think 
after the music.” 

Gradually the boy lost himself in sweet fancies, 
and suddenly he found himself again, in the 
I charmed land of sleep. He wandered in far coun- 
tries, rich and strange; he traversed wild waters 
with incredible swiftness; marvellous creatures ap- 
peared and vanished; he lived with all sorts of 
men, in battles, in whirling crowds, in lonely huts. 
He was cast into prison. He fell into dire distress 
and want. All experiences seemed to be sharpened 
to an edge. He felt them keenly, yet they did not 
4 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
harm him. He died and came alive again ; he loved 
to the height of passion, and then was parted for- 
ever from his beloved. At last, toward morning, as 
the dawn was stealing near, his soul grew calm, and 
the pictures showed more clear and firm. 

It seemed as if he were walking alone through 
the deep woods. Seldom the daylight shimmered 
through the green veil. Soon he came to a rocky 
gorge in the mountains. Under the mossy stones in 
the bed of the stream, he heard the water secretly 
tinkling downward, ever downward, as he climbed 
upward. 

The forest grew thinner and lighter. He came 
to a fair meadow on the slope of the mountain. Be- 
yond the meadow was a high cliff, and in the face 
of the cliff an opening like the entrance to a path. 
Dark was the way, but smooth, and he followed 
easily on till he came near to a vast cavern from 
which a. flood of radiance streamed to meet him. 

As he entered he beheld a mighty beam of light 
which sprang from the ground, shattering itself 
against the roof in countless sparks, falling and 
flowing all together into a great pool in the rock. 

5 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
Brighter was the light-beam than molten gold, but 
silent in its rise, and silent in its fall. The sacred 
stillness of a shrine, a never-broken hush of joy 
and wonder, filled the cavern. Cool was the drip- 
ping radiance that softly trickled down the walls, 
and the light that rippled from them was pale blue. 

But the pool, as the boy drew near and watched 
it, quivered and glanced with the ever-changing 
colours of a liquid opal. He dipped his hands in it 
and wet his lips. It seemed as if a lively breeze 
passed through his heart. 

He felt an irresistible desire to bathe in the pool. 
Slipping off his clothes he plunged in. It was as 
if he bathed in a cloud of sunset. A celestial rapt- 
ure flowed through him. The waves of the stream 
were like a bevy of nymphs taking shape around 
him, clinging to him with tender breasts, as he 
floated onward, lost in delight, yet keenly sensitive 
to every impression. Swiftly the current bore him 
out of the pool, into a hollow in the cliff. Here a 
dimness of slumber shadowed his eyes, while he felt 
the pressure of the loveliest dreams. 

When he awoke again, he was aware of a new 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
fulness of light, purer and steadier than the first 
radiance. He found himself lying on the green 
turf, in the open air, beside a little fountain, which 
sparkled up and melted away in silver spray. Dark- 
blue were the rocks that rose at a little distance, 
veined with white as if strange words were written 
upon them. Dark-blue was the sky, and cloudless. 

All passion had dissolved away from him; every 
sound was music ; every breath was peace ; the rocks 
were like sentinels protecting him ; the sky was like 
a cup of blessing full of tranquil light. 

But what charmed him most, and drew him with 
resistless power, was a tall, clear-blue flower, grow- 
ing beside the spring, and almost touching him 
with its broad, glistening leaves. Round about were 
many other flowers, of all hues. Their odours 
mingled in a perfect chord of fragrance. He saw 
nothing but the Blue Flower. 

Long and tenderly he gazed at it, with unspeak- 
able love. At last he felt that he must go a little 
nearer to it, when suddenly it began to move and 
change. The leaves glistened more brightly, and 
drew themselves up closely around the swiftly 
7 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
growing stalk. The flower bent itself toward him, 
and the petals showed a blue, spreading necklace of 
sapphires, out of which the lovely face of a girl 
smiled softly into his eyes. His sweet astonishment 
grew with the wondrous transformation. 

All at once he heard his mother’s voice calling 
him, and awoke in his parents’ room, already 
flooded with the gold of the morning sun. 

Prom the German of NovaUg, 


THE SOURCE 


THE SOURCE 


I 

In the middle of the land that is called by its 
inhabitants Koorma, and by strangers the Land 
of the Half-forgotten, I was toiling all day long 
through heavy sand and grass as hard as wire. 
Suddenly, toward evening, I came upon a place 
where a gate opened in the wall of mountains, 
and the plain ran in through the gate, making a 
little bay of level country among the hills. 

Now this bay was not brown and hard and dry, 
like the mountains above me, neither was it cov- 
ered with tawny billows of sand like the desert 
along the edge of which I had wearily coasted. 
But the surface of it was smooth and green; and 
as the winds of twilight breathed across it they 
were followed by soft waves of verdure, with sil- 
very turnings of the under sides of many leaves, 
like ripples on a quiet harbour. There were fields 
of corn, filled with silken rustling, and vineyards 
with long rows of trimmed maple-trees standing 

II 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
each one like an emerald goblet wreathed with 
vines, and flower-gardens as bright as if the earth 
had been embroidered with threads of blue and 
scarlet and gold, and olive-orchards frosted over 
with delicate and fragrant blossoms. Red-roofed 
cottages were scattered everywhere through the sea 
of greenery, and in the centre, like a white ship 
surrounded by a flock of little boats, rested a small, 
fair, shining city. 

I wondered greatly how this beauty had come 
into being on the border of the desert. Passing 
through the fields and gardens and orchards, I 
found that they were all encircled and lined with 
channels full of running water. I followed up one 
of the smaller channels until it came to a larger 
stream, and as I walked on beside it, still going 
upward, it guided me into the midst of the city, 
where I saw a sweet, merry river flowing through 
the main street, with abundance of water and a 
very pleasant sound. 

There were houses and shops and lofty palaces 
and all that makes a city, but the life and joy of 
all, and the one thing that I remember best, was 
12 


\J THE SOURCE 

the river. For in the open square at the edge of 
the city there were marble pools where the children 
might bathe and play ; at the corners of the streets 
and on the sides of the houses there were fountains 
for the drawing of water; at every crossing a 
stream was turned aside to run out to the vine- 
yards ; and the river was the mother of them all. 

There were but few people in the streets, and 
none of the older folk from whom I might ask 
counsel or a lodging; so I stood and knocked at 
the door of a house. It was opened by an old man, 
who greeted me with kindness and bade me enter 
as his guest. After much courteous entertainment, 
and when supper was ended, his friendly manner 
and something of singular attractiveness in his 
countenance led me to tell him of my strange jour- 
neyings in the land of Koorma and in other lands 
where I had been seeking the Blue Flower, and to 
inquire of him the name and the story of his city 
and the cause of the river which made it glad. 

“My son,” he answered, “this is the city which 
was called Ablis, that is to say. Forsaken. For 
long ago men lived here, and the river made their 
13 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

fields fertile, and their dwellings were full of 
plenty and peace. But because of many evil things 
which have been half-forgotten, the river was 
turned aside, or else it was dried up at its source 
in the high place among the mountains, so that 
the water flowed down no more. The channels and 
the trenches and the marble pools and the basins 
beside the houses remained, but they were empty. 
So the gardens withered; the fields were barren; 
the city was desolate; and in the broken cisterns 
there was scanty water. 

“Then there came one from a distant country 
w^ho was very sorrowful to see the desolation. He 
told the people that it was vain to dig new cisterns 
and to keep the channels and trenches clean; for 
the water had come only from above. The Source 
must be found again and reopened. The river 
would not flow unless they traced it back to the 
spring, and visited it continually, and offered 
prayers and praises beside it without ceasing. 
Then the spring would rise to an outpouring, and 
the water would run down plentifully to make the 
gardens blossom and the city rejoice. 

U 


THE SOURCE 


“So he went forth to open the fountain; but 
there were few that went with him, for he was a 
poor man of lowly aspect, and the path upward 
was steep and rough. But his companions saw that 
as he climbed among the rocks little streams of 
water gushed from the places where he trod, and 
pools began to gather in the dry river-bed. He 
went more swiftly than they could follow him, and 
at length he passed out of their sight. A little 
farther on they came to the rising of the river and 
there, beside the overflowing Source, they found 
their leader lying dead.” 

“That was a strange thing,” I cried, “and very 
pitiful. Tell me how it came to pass, and what was 
the meaning of it.” 

“I cannot tell the whole of the meaning,” re- 
plied the old man, after a little pause, “for it was 
many years ago. But this poor man had many 
enemies in the city, chiefly among the makers of 
cisterns, who hated him for his words. I believe 
that they went out after him secretly and slew him. 
But his followers came back to the city; and as 
they came the river began to run down very gently 
15 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

after them. They returned to the Source day bji 
day, bringing others with them; for they said 
that their leader was really alive, though the 
form of his life had changed, and that he met 
them in that high place while they remembered 
him and prayed and sang songs of praise. More 
and more the people learned to go with them, and 
the path grew plainer and easier to find. The more 
the Source was revisited, the more abundant it 
became, and the more it filled the river. All the 
channels and the basins were supplied with wa- 
ter, and men made new channels which were also 
filled. Some of those who were diggers of trenches 
and hewers of cisterns said that it was their work 
which had wrought the change. But the wisest and 
best among the people knew that it all came from 
the Source, and they taught that if it should ever 
again be forgotten and left unvisited the river 
would fail again and desolation return. So every 
day, from the gardens and orchards and the streets 
of the city, men and women and children have gone 
up the mountain-path with singing, to rejoice be- 
side the spring from which the river flows and to 
16 


THE SOURCE 


remember the one who opened it. We call it the 
River Carita. And the name of the city is no more 
Ablis, but Saloma, which is Peace. And the name 
of him who died to find the Source for us is so dear 
that we speak it only when we pray. 

“But there are many things yet to learn about 
our city, and some that seem dark and cast a 
shadow on my thoughts. Therefore, my son, I bid 
you to be my guest, for there is a room in my 
house for the stranger; and to-morrow and on the 
following days you shall see how life goes with us, 
and read, if you can, the secret of the city.” 

That night I slept well, as one who has heard 
a pleasant tale, with the murmur of running water 
woven through my dreams; and the next day I 
went out early into the streets, for I was curious 
to see the manner of the visitation of the Source. 

Already the people were coming forth and turn- 
ing their steps upward in the mountain-path be- 
side the river. Some of them went alone, swiftly 
and in silence; others were in groups of two or 
three, talking as they went; others were in larger 
companies, and they sang together very gladly 
17 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


and sweetly. But there were many people who re- 
mained working in their fields or in their houses, 
or stayed talking on the corners of the streets. 
Therefore I joined myself to one of the men who 
walked alone and asked him why all the people 
did not go to the spring, since the life of the city 
depended upon it, and whether, perhaps, the way 
was so long and so hard that none but the strong- 
est could undertake it. 

‘‘Sir,” said he, “I perceive that you are a 
stranger, for the way is both short and easy, so 
that the children are those who most delight in it; 
and if a man were in great haste he could go there 
and return in a little while. But of those who 
remain behind, some are the busy ones who must 
visit the fountain at another hour; and some are 
the careless ones who take life as it comes and 
never think where it comes from; and some are 
those who do not believe in the Source and will 
hear nothing about it.” 

“How can that be?” I said; “do they not drink 
of the water, and does it not make their fields 
green ?” 


18 


THE SOURCE 

“It is true,” he said ; “but these men have made 
wells close by the river, and they say that these 
wells fill themselves; and they have digged chan- 
nels through their gardens, and they say that 
these channels would always have water in them 
even though the spring should cease to flow. Some 
of them say also that it is an unworthy thing to 
drink from a source that another has opened, and 
that every man ought to find a new spring for 
himself; so they spend the hour of the visitation, 
and many more, in searching among the mountains 
where there is no path.” 

While I wondered over this, we kept on in the 
way. There was already quite a throng of people 
all going in the same direction. And when we came 
to the Source, which flowed from an opening in 
a cliff, almost like a chamber hewn in the rock, 
and made a little garden of wild-flowers around it 
as it fell, I heard the music of many voices and 
the beautiful name of him who had given his life 
to find the forgotten spring. 

Then we came down again, singly and in groups, 
following the river. It seemed already more bright 
19 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


and full and joyous. As we passed through the 
gardens I saw men turning aside to make new 
channels through fields which were not yet culti- 
vated. And as we entered the city I saw the wheels 
of the mills that ground the com whirling more 
swiftly, and the maidens coming with their pitch- 
ers to draw from the brimming basins at the street 
corners, and the children laughing because the 
marble pools were so full that they could swim in 
them. There was plenty of water everywhere. 

For many weeks I stayed in the city of Saloma, 
going up the mountain-path in the morning, and 
returning to the day of work and the evening of 
play. I found friends among the people of the 
city, not only among those who walked together 
in the visitation of the Source, but also among 
those who remained behind, for many of them 
were kind and generous, faithful in their work, 
and very pleasant in their conversation. 

Yet there was something lacking between me 
and them. I came not onto firm ground with them, 
for all their warmth of welcome and their pleasant 
ways. They were by nature of the race of those 
20 


THE SOURCE 


who dwell ever in one place ; even in their thoughts 
they went not far abroad. But I have been ever 
a seeker, and the world seems to me made to wan- 
der in, rather than to abide in one corner of it 
and never see what the rest has in store. Now this 
was what the people of Saloma could not under- 
stand, and for this reason I seemed to them always 
a stranger, an alien, a guest. The fixed circle of 
their life was like an invisible wall, and with the 
best will in the world they knew ndt how to draw 
me within it. And I, for my part, while I under- 
stood well their wish to rest and be at peace, could 
not quite understand the way in which it found 
fulfilment, nor share the repose which seemed to 
them all-sufficient and lasting. In their gardens I 
saw ever the same flowers, and none perfect. At 
their feasts I tasted ever the same food, and none 
that made an end of hunger. In their talk I heard 
ever the same words, and none that went to the 
depth of thought. The very quietude and fixity of 
their being perplexed and estranged me. What to 
them was permanent, to me was transient. They 
were inhabitants : I was a visitor. 


21 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


The one in all the city of Saloma with whom 
I was most at home was Ruamie, the little grand- 
daughter of the old man with whom I lodged. To 
her, a girl of thirteen, fair-eyed and full of joy, 
the wonted round of life had not yet grown to 
be a matter of course. She was quick to feel and 
answer the newness of every day that dawned. 
When a strange bird flew down from the moun- 
tains into the gardens, it was she that saw it and 
wondered at it. It was she that walked with me 
most often in the path to the Source. She went 
out with me to the flelds in the morning and al- 
most every day found wild-flowers that were new 
to me. At sunset she drew me to happy games of 
youths and children, where her fancy was never 
tired of weaving new turns to the familiar pas- 
times. In the dusk she would sit beside me in an 
arbour of honeysuckle and question me about the 
flower that I was seeking, — for to her I had often 
spoken of my quest. 

“Is it blue,” she asked, “as blue as the speed- 
well that grows beside the brook.?” 

“Yes, it is as much bluer than the speedwell, as 
the river is deeper than the brook.” 

22 


THE SOURCE 


^‘And is it bright,” she asked, “as bright as the 
drops of dew that shine in the moonlight?” 

“Yes, it is as much brighter than the drops of 
dew as the sun is clearer than the moon.” 

“And is it sweet,” she asked, “as sweet as 
the honeysuckle when the day is warm and 
still?” 

“Yes, it is as much sweeter than the honeysuckle 
as the night is stiller and more sweet than the 
day.” 

“Tell me again,” she asked, “when you saw it, 
and why do you seek it?” 

“Once I saw it when I was a boy, no older than 
you. Our house looked out toward the hills, far 
away and at sunset softly blue against the eastern 
sky. It was the day that we laid my father to rest 
in the little burying-ground among the cedar- 
trees. There was his father’s grave, and his fath- 
er’s father’s grave, and there were the places for 
my mother and for my two brothers and for my 
sister and for me. I counted them all, when the 
others had gone back to the house. I paced up 
and down alone, measuring the ground; there was 
23 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


room enough for us all ; and in the western corner 
where a young elm-tree was growing, — that would 
be my place, for I was the youngest. How tall 
would the elm-tree be then.^* I had never thought 
of it before. It seemed to make me sad and rest- 
less, — wishing for something, I knew not what, — 
longing to see the world and to taste happiness 
before I must sleep beneath the elm-tree. Then I 
looked off to the blue hills, shadowy and dream- 
like, the boundary of the little world that I knew. 
And there, in a cleft between the highest peaks I 
saw a wondrous thing: for the place at which I 
was looking seemed to come nearer and nearer to 
me ; I saw the trees, the rocks, the ferns, the white 
road winding before me; the enfolding hills un- 
closed like leaves, and in the heart of them I saw 
a Blue Flower, so bright, so beautiful that my eyes 
filled with tears as I looked. It was like a face that 
smiled at me and promised something. Then I 
heard a call, like the note of a trumpet very far 
away, calling me to come. And as I listened the 
flower faded into the dimness of the hills.” 

“Did you follow it,” asked Ruamie, “and did 


THE SOURCE 

you go away from your home? How could you 
do that?” 

‘‘Yes, Ruamie, when the time came, as soon as 
I was free, I set out on my journey, and my home is 
at the end of the journey, wherever that may be.” 

“And the flower,” she asked, “you have seen it 
again ?” 

“Once again, when I was a youth, I saw it. 
After a long voyage upon stormy seas, we came 
into a quiet haven, and there the friend who was 
dearest to me, said good-by, for he was going 
back to his own country and his father’s house, 
but I was still journeying onward. So as I stood 
at the bow of the ship, sailing out into the wide 
blue water, far away among the sparkling waves 
I saw a little island, with shores of silver sand and 
slopes of fairest green, and in the middle of the 
island the Blue Flower was growing, wondrous tall 
and dazzling, brighter than the sapphire of the sea. 
Then the call of the distant trumpet caine float- 
ing across the water, and while it was sounding 
a shimmer of fog swept over the island and I could 
see it no more.” 


25 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


“Was it a real island,” asked Ruamie. “Did you 
ever find it?” 

“Never; for the ship sailed another way. But 
once again I saw the flower; three days before 
I came to Saloma. It was on the edge of the 
desert, close under the shadow of the great moun- 
tains. A vast loneliness was round about me; it 
seemed as if I was the only soul living upon 
earth; and I longed for the dwellings of men. 
Then as I woke in the morning I looked up at the 
dark ridge of the mountains, and there against 
the brightening blue of the sky I saw the Blue 
Flower standing up clear and brave. It shone so 
deep and pure that the sky grew pale around it. 
Then the echo of the far-off trumpet drifted down 
the hillsides, and the sun rose, and the flower was 
melted away in light. So I rose and travelled on 
till I came to Saloma.” 

“And now,” said the child, “you are at home 
with us. Will you not stay for a long, long while? 
You may And the Blue Flower here. There are 
many kinds in the fields. I find new ones every day.” 

“I will stay while I can, Ruamie,” I answered, 
26 


THESOURCE 

taking her hand in mine as we walked back to 
the house at nightfall, “but how long that may 
be I cannot tell. For with you I am at home, yet 
the place where I must abide is the place where the 
flower grows, and when the call comes I must fol- 
low it.” 

“Yes,” said she, looking at me half in doubt, 
“I think I understand. But wherever you go I 
hope you will find the flower at last.” 

In truth there were many things in the city that 
troubled me and made me restless, in spite of the 
sweet comfort of Ruamie’s friendship and the tran- 
quillity of the life in Saloma. I came to see the 
meaning of what the old man had said about the 
shadow that rested upon his thoughts. For there 
were some in the city who said that the hours of 
visitation were wasted, and that it would be better 
to employ the time in gathering water from the 
pools that formed among the mountains in the 
rainy season, or in sinking wells along the edge 
of the desert. Others had newly come to the city 
and were teaching that there was no Source, and 
that the story of the poor man who reopened it 
27 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
was a fable, and that the hours of visitation were 
only hours of dreaming. There were many who 
believed them, and many more who said that it did 
not matter whether their words were true or false, 
and that it was of small moment whether men went 
to visit the fountain or not, provided only that they 
worked in the gardens and kept the marble pools 
and basins in repair and opened new canals 
through the fields, since there always had been 
and always would be plenty of water. 

As I listened to these sayings it seemed to me 
doubtful what the end of the city would be. And 
while this doubt was yet heavy upon me, I heard 
at midnight the faint calling of the trumpet, 
sounding along the crest of the mountains: and 
as I went out to look where it came from, I saw, 
through the glimmering veil of the milky way, the 
shape of a blossom of celestial blue, whose petals 
seemed to fall and fade as I looked. So I bade 
farewell to the old man in whose house I had 
leanied to love the hour of visitation and the 
Source and the name of him who opened it; and 
I kissed the hands and the brow of the little 
S8 


THE SOURCE 


Ruamie who had entered my heart, and went forth 
sadly from the land of Koorma into other lands, 
to look for the Blue Flower. 


II 

In the Book of the Voyage without a Harbour 
is written the record of the ten years which passed 
before I came back again to the city of Sa- 
loma. 

It was not easy to find, for I came down through 
the mountains, and as I looked from a distant 
shoulder of the hills for the little bay full of 
greenery, it was not to be seen. There was only a 
white town shining far off against the brown cliffs, 
like a flake of mica in a cleft of the rocks. Then 
I slept that night, full of care, on the hillside, and 
rising before dawn, came down in the early morn- 
ing toward the city. 

The fields were lying parched and yellow under 
the sunrise, and great cracks gaped in the earth 
as if it were thirsty. The trenches and channels 
were still there, but there was little water in them ; 
29 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
and through the ragged fringes of the rusty vine- 
yards I heardj instead of the cheerful songs of 
the vintagers, the creaking of dry windlasses and 
the hoarse throb of the pumps in sunken wells. 
The girdle of gardens had shrunk like a wreath 
of withered flowers, and all the bright embroidery 
of earth was faded to a sullen gray. 

At the foot of an ancient, leafless olive-tree I 
saw a group of people kneeling around a newly 
opened well. I asked a man who was digging be- 
side the dusty path what this might mean. He 
straightened himself for a moment, wiping the 
sweat from his brow, and answered, sullenly, “They 
are worshipping the windlass : how else should they 
bring water into their fields Then he fell furi- 
ously to digging again, and I passed on into the 
city. 

There was no sound of murmuring streams in 
the streets, and down the main bed of the river I 
saw only a few shallow puddles, joined together 
by a slowly trickling thread. Even these were 
fenced and guarded so that no one might come 
near to them, and there were men going among 
30 


THE SOURCE 

the houses with water-skins on their shoulders, cry* 
ing “Water! Water to sell!” 

The marble pools in the open square were 
empty ; and at one of them there was a crowd look- 
ing at a man who was being beaten with rods. A 
bystander told me that the officers of the city had 
ordered him to be punished because he had said 
that the pools and the basins and the channels 
were not all of pure marble, without a flaw. “For 
this,” said he, “is the evil doctrine that has come 
in to take away the glory of our city, and because 
of this the water has failed.” 

“It is a sad change,” I answered, “and doubt- 
less they who have caused it should suffer more 
than others. But can you tell me at what hour and 
in what manner the people now observe the visita- 
tion of the Source?” 

He looked curiously at me and replied: “I do 
not understand you. There is no visitation save the 
inspection of the cisterns and the wells which the 
syndics of the city, whom we call the Princes of 
Water, carry on daily at every hour. What source 
is this of which you speak?” 

3] 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

So I went on through the street, where all the 
passers-by seemed in haste and wore weary coun- 
tenances, until I came to the house where I had 
lodged. There was a little basin here against the 
wall, with a slender stream of water still flowing 
into it, and a group of children standing near 
with their pitchers, waiting to fill them. 

The door of the house was closed; but when I 
knocked, it opened and a maiden came forth. She 
was pale and sad in aspect, but a light of joy 
dawned over the snow of her face, and I knew by 
the youth in her eyes that it was Ruamie, who 
had walked with me through the vineyards long 
ago. 

With both hands she welcomed me, saying: 
“You are expected. Have you found the Blue 
Flower.?” 

“Not yet,” I answered, “but something drew me 
back to you. I would know how it fares with you, 
and I would go again with you to visit the Source.” 

At this her face grew bright, but with a tender, 
half-sad brightness. 

“The Source!” she said. “Ah, yes, I was sure 
32 


THE SOURCE 


that you would remember it. And this is the hour 
of the visitation. Come, let us go up together.” 

Then we went alone through the busy and weary 
multitudes of the city toward the mountain-path. 
So forsaken was it and so covered with stones and 
overgrown with wire-grass that I could not have 
found it but for her guidance. But as we climbed 
upward the air grew clearer, and more sweet, and 
I questioned her of the things that had come to 
pass in my absence. I asked her of the kind old 
man who had taken me into his house when I came 
as a stranger. She said, softly, “He is dead.” 

“And where are the men and women, his friends, 
who once thronged this pathway.^ Are they also 
dead.?” 

“They also are dead.” 

“But where are the younger ones who sang here 
so gladly as they marched upward.? Surely they 
are living.?” 

“They have forgotten.” 

“Where then are the young children whose 
fathers taught them this way and bade them re- 
member it. Have they forgotten?” 

S3 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


“They have forgotten.” 

“But why have you alone kept the hour of visi- 
tation? Why have you not turned back with your 
companions? How have you walked here solitary 
day after day?” 

She turned to me with a divine regard, and lay- 
ing her hand gently over mine, she said, “I re- 
member always.” 

Then I saw a few wild-flowers blossoming beside 
the path. 

We drew near to the Source, and entered into 
the chamber hewn in the rock. She kneeled and 
bent over the sleeping spring. She murmured again 
and again the beautiful name of him who had died 
to find it. Her voice repeated the song that had 
once been sung by many voices. Her tears fell 
softly on the spring, and as they fell it seemed as 
if the water stirred and rose to meet her bending 
face, and when she looked up it was as if the dew 
had fallen on a flower. 

We came very slowly down the path along the 
river Carita, and rested often beside it, for surely, 
I thought, the rising of the spring had sent a 
34 



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THE SOURCE 


little more water down its dry bed, and some of 
it must flow on to the city. So it was almost evening 
when we came back to the streets. The people were 
hurrying to and fro, for it was the day before 
the choosing of new Princes of Water; and there 
was much dispute about them, and strife over the 
building of new cisterns to hold the stores of rain 
which might fall in the next year. But none cared 
for us, as we passed by like strangers, and we 
came unnoticed to the door of the house. 

Then a great desire of love and sorrow moved 
within my breast, and I said to Ruamie, “You 
are the life of the city, for you alone remember. 
Its secret is in your heart, and your faithful 
keeping of the hours of visitation is the only cause 
why the river has not failed altogether and the 
curse of desolation returned. Let me stay with 
you, sweet soul of all the flowers that are dead, 
and I will cherish you forever. Together we will 
visit the Source every day ; and we shall turn the 
people, by our lives and by our words, back to 
that which they have forgotten.” 

There was a smile in her eyes so deep that its 
$5 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
meaning cannot be spoken, as she lifted my hand 
to her lips, and answered, 

“Not so, dear friend, for who can tell whether 
life or death will come to the city, whether its peo- 
ple will remember at last, or whether they will for- 
get forever. Its lot is mine, for I was born here, 
and here my life is rooted. But you are of the 
Children of the Unquiet Heart, whose feet can 
never rest until their task of errors is completed 
and their lesson of wandering is learned to the end. 
Until then go forth, and do not forget that I shall 
remember always.” 

Behind her quiet voice I heard the silent call 
that compels us, and passed down the street as one 
walking in a dream. At the place where the path 
turned aside to the ruined vineyards I looked back. 
The low sunset made a circle of golden rays about 
her head and a strange twin blossom of celestial 
blue seemed to shine in her tranquil eyes. 

Since then I know not what has befallen the city, 
nor whether it is still called Saloma, or once more 
Ablis, which is Forsaken. But if it lives at all, I 
know that it is because there is one there who re- 


THE SOURCE 

mertibers, and keeps the hour of visitation, and 
treads the steep way, and breathes the beautiful 
name over the spring, and sometimes I think that 
long before my seeking and journeying brings me 
to the Blue Flower, it will bloom for Ruamie be- 
side the still waters of the Source. 


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THE MILL 


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THE MILL 


How the Young Martimor would Become a Knighi 
and Assay Great Adventure 

When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red 
Launds where he did many deeds of arms, he rested 
him long with play and game in a land that is 
called Beausejour. For in that land there are 
neither castles nor enchantments, but many fair 
manors, with orchards and fields lying about them ; 
and the people that dwell therein have good cheer 
continually. 

Of the wars and of the strange quests that are 
ever afoot in Northgalis and Lionesse and the Out 
Isles, they hear nothing; but are well content to 
till the earth in summer when the world is green; 
and when the autumn changes green to gold they 
pitch pavilions among the fruit-trees and the vine- 
yards, making merry with song and dance while 
they gather harvest of corn and apples and 
41 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


grapes; and in the white days of winter for pas- 
time they have music of divers instruments and the 
playing of pleasant games. 

But of the telling of tales in that land there is 
little skill, neither do men rightly understand the 
singing of ballads and romaunts. For one year 
there is like another, and so their life runs away, 
and they leave the world to God. 

Then Sir Lancelot had great ease for a time in 
this quiet land, and often he lay under the apple- 
trees sleeping, and again he taught the people new 
games and feats of skill. For into what place soever 
he came he was welcome, though the inhabitants 
knew not his name and great renown, nor the fa- 
mous deeds that he had done in tournament and 
battle. Yet for his own sake, because he was a very 
gentle knight, fair-spoken and full of courtesy 
and a good man of his hands withal, they doted 
upon him. 

So he began to tell them tales of many things 
that have been done in the world by clean knights 
and faithful squires. Of the wars against the Sara- 
cens and misbelieving men; of the discomfiture of 
4>2 


THE MILL 

the Romans when they came to take truage of 
King Arthur; of the strife with the eleven kings 
and the battle that was ended but never finished; 
of the Questing Beast and how King Pellinore and 
then Sir Palamides followed it ; of Balin that gave 
the dolourous stroke unto King Pellam ; of Sir Tor 
that sought the lady’s brachet and by the way 
overcame two knights and smote off the head of the 
outrageous caitiff Abelleus, — of these and many 
like matters of pith and moment, full of blood and 
honour, told Sir Lancelot, and the people had mar- 
vel of his words. 

Now, among them that listened to him gladly, 
was a youth of good blood and breeding, very fair 
in the face and of great stature. His name was 
Martimor. Strong of arm was he, and his neck 
was like a pillar. His legs were as tough as beams 
of ash-wood, and in his heart was the hunger of 
noble tatches and deeds. So when he heard of Sir 
Lancelot these redoubtable histories he was taken 
with desire to assay his strength. And he besought 
the knight that they might joust together. 

But in the land of Beausejour there were no 
43 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
arms of war save such as Sir Lancelot had brought 
with him. Wherefore they made shift to fashion a 
harness out of kitchen gear, with a brazen platter 
for a breast-plate, and the cover of the greatest of 
all kettles for a shield, and for a helmet a round 
pot of iron, whereof the handle stuck down at 
Martimor’s back like a tail. And for spear he got 
him a stout young fir-tree, the point hardened in 
the fire, and Sir Lancelot lent to him the sword that 
he had taken from the false knight that distressed 
all ladles. 

Thus was Martimor accoutred for the jousting, 
and when he had climbed upon his horse, there 
arose much laughter and mockage. Self Sir Lance- 
lot laughed a little, though he was ever a grave 
man, and said, “Now must we call this knight. La 
Queue de Fer, by reason of the tail at his back.” 

But Martimor was half merry and half wroth, 
and crying “ ’Ware !” he dressed his spear beneath 
his arm. Right so he rushed upon Sir Lancelot, and 
so marvellously did his harness jangle and smite to- 
gether as he came, that the horse of Sir Lancelot 
was frighted and turned aside. Thus the point of 
44 


THE MILL 

the fir-tree caught him upon the shoulder and 
came near to unhorse him. Then Martimor drew 
rein and shouted: “Ha! ha! has Iron-Tail done 
well.?” 

“Nobly hast thou done,” said Lancelot, laugh- 
ing, the while he amended his horse, “but let not 
the first stroke turn thy head, else will the tail of 
thy helmet hang down afore thee and mar the sec- 
ond stroke!” 

So he kept his horse in hand and guided him 
warily, making feint now on this side and now on 
that, until he was aware that the youth grew hot 
with the joy of fighting and sought to deal with 
him roughly and bigly. Then he cast aside his 
spear and drew sword, and as Martimor walloped 
toward him, he lightly swerved, and with one 
stroke cut in twain the young fir-tree, so that not 
above an ell was left in the youth’s hand. 

Then was the youth full of fire, and he also drew 
sword and made at Sir Lancelot, lashing heavily as 
he would hew down a tree. But the knight guard- 
ed and warded without distress, until the other 
breathed hard and was blind with sweat. Then 
45 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


Lancelot smote him with a mighty stroke upon the 
head, but with the flat of his sword, so that Marti- 
mor’s breath went clean out of him, and the blood 
gushed from his mouth, and he fell over the croup 
of his horse as he were a man slain. 

Then Sir Lancelot laughed no more, but grieved, 
for he weened that he had harmed the youth, and 
he liked him passing well. So he ran to him and 
held him in his arms fast and tended him. And 
when the breath came again Into his body, Lance- 
lot was glad, and desired the youth that he would 
pardon him of that unequal joust and of the stroke 
too heavy. 

At this Martimor sat up and took him by the 
hand. “Pardon he cried. “No talk of pardon be- 
tween thee and me, my Lord Lancelot! Thou hast 
given me such joy of my life as never I had be- 
fore. It made me glad to feel thy might. And now 
am I delibred and fully concluded that I also will 
become a knight, and thou shalt instruct me how 
and in what land I shall seek great adventure.” 


46 


THE MILL 


II 

How Martimor was Instructed of Sir Lancelot to 
Set Forth Upon His Quest 

So right gladly did Sir Lancelot advise the 
young Martimor of all the customs and vows of 
the noble order of knighthood, and shew how he 
might become a well-ruled and a hardy knight to 
win good fame and renown. For between these two 
from the first there was close brotherhood and 
affiance, though in years and in breeding they 
were so far apart, and this brotherhood endured 
until the last, as ye shall see, nor was the affiance 
broken. 

Thus willingly learned the youth of his master ; 
being instructed first in the art and craft to man- 
age and guide a horse; then to handle the shield 
and the spear, and both to cut and to foin with the 
sword; and last of all in the laws of honour and 
courtesy, whereby a man may rule his own spirit 
and so obtain grace of God, praise of princes, arid 
favour of fair ladies. 


47 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

‘‘For this I tell thee,” said Sir Lancelot, as they 
sat together under an apple-tree, “there be many 
good fighters that are false knights, breaking faith 
with man and woman, envious, lustful and orgu- 
lous. In them courage is cruel, and love is lecherous. 
And in the end they shall come to shame and shall 
be overcome by a simpler knight than themselves ; 
or else they shall win sorrow and despite by the 
slaying of better men than they be ; and with their 
paramours they shall have weary dole and distress 
of soul and body ; for he that is false, to him shall 
none be true, but all things shall be unhappy about 
him.” 

“But how and if a man be true in heart,” said 
Martimor, “yet by some enchantment, or evil for- 
tune, he may do an ill deed and one that is harmful 
to his lord or to his friend, even as Balin and his 
brother Balan slew each the other unknown?” 

“That is in God’s hand,” said Lancelot. “Doubt- 
less he may pardon and assoil all such in their un- 
happiness, forasmuch as the secret of it is with 
him.” 

“And how if a man be entangled in love,” said 
48 


THE MILL 


Martimor, “yet his love be set upon one that is not 
lawful for him to have? For either he must deny 
his love, which is great shame, or else he must do 
dishonour to the law. What shall he then do?” 

At this Sir Lancelot was silent, and heaved a 
great sigh. Then said he: “Rest assured that this 
man shall have sorrow enough. For out of this net 
he may not escape, save by falsehood on the one 
side, or by treachery on the other. Therefore say I 
that he shall not assay to escape, but rather right 
manfully to bear the bonds with which he is bound, 
and to do honour to them.” 

“How may this be?” said Martimor. 

“By clean living,” said Lancelot, “and by keep- 
ing himself from wine which heats the blood, and 
by quests and labours and combats wherein the 
fierceness of the heart is spent and overcome, and 
by inward joy in the pure worship of his lady, 
whereat none may take offence.” 

“How then shall a man bear himself in the fol- 
lowing of a quest?” said Martimor. “Shall he set 
his face ever forward, and turn not to right, or 
left, whatever meet him by the way? Or shall he 
49 


THE BLUE ELOW-ER 


hold himself ready to answer them that call to him, 
and to succour them that ask help of him, and to 
turn aside from his path for rescue and good ser- 
vice?” 

“Enough of questions!” said Lancelot. “These 
are things whereto each man must answer for 
himself, and not for other. True knight taketh 
counsel of the time. Every day his own deed. 
And the winning of a quest is not by haste, nor by 
hap, but what needs to be done, that must ye do 
while ye are in the wa3^” 

Then because of the love that Sir Lancelot bore 
to Martimor he gave him his own armour, and the 
good spear wherewith he had unhorsed many 
knights, and the sword that he took from Sir Peris 
de Forest Savage that distressed all ladies, but his 
shield he gave not, for therein his own remem- 
brance was blazoned. So he let make a new shield, 
and in the corner was painted a Blue Flower that 
was nameless, and this he gave to Martimor, say- 
ing : “Thou shalt name it when thou hast found it, 
and so shalt thou have both crest and motto.” 

“Now am I well beseen,” cried Martimor, “and 


50 


THE MILL 


my adventures are before me. Which way shall I 
ride, and where shall I find them?” 

“Ride into the wind,” said Lancelot, “and what 
chance soever it blows thee, thereby do thy best, as 
it w’ere the first and the last. Take not thy hand 
from it until it be fulfilled. So shalt thou most 
quickly and worthily achieve knighthood.” 

Then they embraced like brothers ; and each 
bade other keep him well; and Sir Lancelot in 
leather jerkin, with naked head, but with his shield 
and sword, rode to the south toward Camelot ; and 
Martimor rode into the wind, westward, over the 
hill. 


Ill 

How Martimor Came to the Mill and There was 
Stayed in a Delay 

So by wildsome ways in strange countries and 
through many waters and valleys rode Martimor 
forty days, but adventure met him none, blow the 
wind never so fierce or fickle. Neither dragons, nor 
giants, nor false knights, nor distressed ladies, nor 
fays, nor kings imprisoned could he find. 

51 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

“These are ill times for adventure,” said he, “the 
world is full of meat and sleepy. Now must I ride 
farther afield and undertake some ancient, famous 
quest wherein other knights have failed and fallen. 
Either I shall follow the Questing Beast with Sir 
Palamides, or I shall find Merlin at the great stone 
whereunder the Lady of the Lake enchanted him 
and deliver him from that enchantment, or I shall 
assay the cleansing of the Forest Perilous, or I 
shall win the favour of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 
or mayhap I shall adventure the quest of the San- 
greal. One or other of these will I achieve, or bleed 
the best blood of my body.” Thus pondering and 
dreaming he came by the road down a gentle hill 
with close woods on either hand ; and so into a val- 
ley with a swift river flowing through it; and on 
the river a Mill. 

So white it stood among the trees, and so mer- 
rily whirred the wheel as the water turned it, and 
so bright blossomed the flowers in the garden, that 
Martimor had joy of the sight, for it minded him 
of his own country. “But here is no adventure,” 
thought he, and made to ride by. 

52 


THE MILL 


Even then came a young maid suddenly through 
the garden crying and wringing her hands. And 
when she saw him she cried him help. At this Mar- 
timor alighted quickly and ran into the garden, 
where the young maid soon led him to the mill- 
pond, which was great and deep, and made him un- 
derstand that her little hound was swept away by 
the water and was near to perishing. 

There saw he a red and white brachet, caught by 
the swift stream that ran into the race, fast swim- 
ming as ever he could swim, yet by no means able 
to escape. Then Martimor stripped off his harness 
and leaped into the water and did marvellously to 
rescue the little hound. But the fierce river dragged 
his legs, and buffeted him, and hurtled at him, and 
drew him down, as it were an enemy wrestling with 
him, so that he had much ado to come where the 
brachet was, and more to win back again, with the 
brachet in his arm, to the dry land. 

Which when he had done he was clean for-spent 
and fell upon the ground as a dead man. At this 
the young maid w^pt yet more bitterly than she 
had wept for her hound, and cried aloud, “Alas, if 


53 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


so goodly a man should spend his life for my little 
brachet!” So she took his head upon her knee and 
cherished him and beat the palms of his hands, and 
the hound licked his face. And when Martimor 
opened his eyes he saw the face of the maid that it 
was fair as any flower. 

Then was she shamed, and put him gently from 
. her knee, and began to thank him and to ask with 
what she might reward him for the saving of the 
brachet. 

“A night’s lodging and a day’s cheer,” quoth 
Martimor. 

“As long as thee liketh,” said she, “for my 
father, the miller, will return ere sundown, and 
right gladly will he have a guest so brave.” 

“Longer might I like,” said he, “but longer may 
I not stay, for I ride in a quest and seek great ad- 
ventures to become a knight.” 

So they bestowed the horse in the stable, and 
went into the Mill; and when the miller was come 
home they had such good cheer with eating of ven- 
ison and pan-cakes, and drinking of hydromel, and 
singing of pleasant ballads, that Martimor clean 
54 


THE MILL 


forgot he was in a delay. And going to his bed in a 
fair garret he dreamed of the Maid of the Mill} 
whose name was Lirette. 


IV 

How the Mill was in Danger and the Delay 
Endured 

In the morning Martimor lay late and thought 
large thoughts of his quest, and whither it might 
lead him, and to what honour it should bring him. 
As he dreamed thus, suddenly he heard in the hall 
below a trampling of feet and a shouting, with the 
voice of Lirette crying and shrieking. With that 
he sprang out of his bed, and caught up his sword 
and dagger, leaping lightly and fiercely down the 
stair. 

There he saw three foul churls, whereof two 
strove with the miller, beating him with great 
clubs, while the third would master the Maid and 
drag her away to do her shame, but she fought 
shrewdly. Then Martimor rushed upon the churls, 
shouting for joy, and there was a great medley of 
55 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
breaking chairs and tables and cursing and smit- 
ing, and with his sword he gave horrible strokes. 

One of the knaves that fought with the miller, 
he smote upon the shoulder and clave him to the 
navel. And at the other he foined fiercely so that 
the point of the sword went through his back and 
stuck fast in the wall. But the third knave, that 
was the biggest and the blackest, and strove to 
bear away the Maid, left hold of her, and leaped 
upon Martimor and caught him by the middle and 
crushed him so that his ribs cracked. 

Thus they weltered and wrung together, and 
now one of them was above and now the other ; and 
ever as they wallowed Martimor smote him w;th his 
dagger, but there came forth no blood, only water. 

Then the black churl broke away from him and 
ran out at the door of the mill, and Martimor after. 
So they ran through the garden to the river, and 
there the churl sprang into the water, and swept 
away raging and foaming. And as he went he 
shouted, “Yet will I put thee to the worse, and mar 
the Mill, and have the Maid !” 

Then Martimor cried, “Never while I live shah 
56 


THE MILL 

thou mar the Mill or have the Maid, thou foul, 
black, misbegotten churl!” So he returned to the 
Mill, and there the damsel Lirette made him to 
understand that these three churls were long time 
enemies of the Mill, and sought ever to destroy it 
and to do despite to her and her father. One of 
them was Ignis, and another was Ventus, and these 
were the twain that he had smitten. But the third, 
that fled down the river (and he was ever the 
fiercest and the most outrageous), his name was 
Flumen, for he dwelt in the caves of the stream, 
and was the master of it before the Mill was built. 

‘‘And now,” wept the Maid, “he must have had 
his win with me and with the Mill, but for God’s 
mercy, thanked be our Lord J esus !” 

“Thank me too,” said Martimor. 

“So I do,” said Lirette, and she kissed him. “Yet 
am I heavy at heart and fearful, for my father is 
sorely mishandled and his arm is broken, so that 
he cannot tend the Mill nor guard it. And Flumen 
is escaped; surely he will harm us again. Now I 
know not, where I shall look for help.” 

“Why not here?” said Martimor. 

57 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

Then Lirette looked him in the face, smiling a 
little sorrily. “But thou ridest in a quest,” quoth 
she, “thou mayst not stay from thy adventures.” 

“A month,” said he. 

“Till my father be well.?^” said she. 

“A month,” said he. 

“Till thou hast put Flumen to the worse?” said 
she. 

“Right willingly would I have to do with that 
base, slippery knave again,” said he, “but more 
than a month I may not stay, for my quest calls 
me and I must win worship of men or ever I become 
a knight.” 

So they bound up the miller’s wounds and set the 
Mill in order. But Martimor had much to do to 
learn the working of the Mill ; and they were bus- 
ied with the grinding of wheat and rye and barley 
and divers kinds of grain; and the miller’s hurts 
were mended every day; and at night there was 
merry rest and good cheer; and Martimor talked 
with the Maid of the great adventure that he must 
find ; and thus the delay endured in pleasant wise. 


58 


THE MILL 


V 

Yet More of the Mill, and of the Same Delay, aho 
of the Maid 

Now at the end of the third month, which was 
November, Martimor made Lirette to understand 
that it was high time he should ride farther to fol- 
low his quest. For the miller was now recovered, 
and it was long that they had heard and seen 
naught of Flumen, and doubtless that black knave 
was well routed and dismayed that he would not 
come again. Lirette pra^^ed him and desired him 
that he would tarry yet one week. But Martimor 
said. No! for his adventures were before him, and 
that he could not be happy save in the doing of 
great deeds and the winning of knightly fame. 
Then he showed her the Blue Flower in his shield 
that was nameless, and told her how Sir Lancelot 
had said that he must find it, then should he name 
it and have both crest and motto. 

‘‘Does it grow in my garden ?” said Lirette. 

“I have not seen it,” said he, “and now the flow- 
ers are all faded.” 


59 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


“Perhaps in the month of May?” said she. 

“In that month I will come again,” said he, “for 
by that time it may fortune that I shall achieve my 
quest, but now forth must I fare.” 

So there was sad cheer in the Mill that day, and 
at night there came a fierce storm with howling 
wind and plumping rain, and Martimor slept ill. 
About the break of day he was wakened by a great 
roaring and pounding; then he looked out of win- 
dow, and saw the river in flood, with black waves 
spuming and raving, like wood beasts, and driving 
before them great logs and broken trees. Thus the 
river hurled and hammered at the mill-dam so that 
it trembled, and the logs leaped as they would 
spring over it, and the voice of Flumen shouted 
hoarsely and hungrily, “Yet will I mar the Mill 
and have the Maid !” 

Then Martimor ran with the miller out upon the 
dam, and they laboured at the gates that held the 
river back, and thrust away the logs that were 
heaped over them, and cut with axes, and fought 
with the river. So at last two of the gates were 
lifted and one was broken, and the flood ran down 
60 


THE MILL 

ramping and roaring in great raundon, and as it 
ran the black face of Flumen sprang above it, cry- 
ing, “Yet will I mar both Mill and Maid.” 

“That shalt thou never do,” cried Martimor, 
“by foul or fair, while the life beats in my body.” 

So he came back with the miller into the Mill, 
and there was meat ready for them and they ate 
strongly and with good heart. “Now,” said the 
miller, “must I mend the gate. But how it may be 
done, I know not, for surely this will be great 
travail for a man alone.” 

“Why alone said Martimor. 

“Thou wilt stay, then.^” said Lirette. 

“Yea,” said he. 

“For another month .^” said she. 

“Till the gate be mended,” said he. 

But when the gate was mended there came an- 
other flood and brake the second gate. And when 
that was mended there came another flood and 
brake the third gate. So when all three were mend- 
ed firm and fast, being bound with iron, still the 
grimly river hurled over the dam, and the voice of 
Flumen muttered in the dark of winter nights, 
6l 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
"Yet will I mar — mar — mar — ^jet will I mar Mill 
and Maid.” 

"Oho!” said Martimor, "this is a durable and 
dogged knave. Art thou feared of him Lirette?” 

"Not so,” said she, "for thou art stronger. But 
fear have I of the day when thou ridest forth in 
thy quest.” 

"Well, as to that,” said he, "when I have over- 
come this false devil Flumen, then will we consider 
and appoint that day.” 

So the delay continued, and Martimor was both 
busy and happy at the Mill, for he liked and loved 
this damsel well, and was fain of her company. 
Moreover the strife with Flumen was great joy to 
him. 

VI 

How the Month of May came to the Mill, and the 
Delay was Made Longer 

Now when the month of May came to the Mill 
it brought a plenty of sweet flowers, and Lirette 
wrought in the garden. With her, when the day 
was spent and the sun rested upon the edge of the 
62 


THE MILL 

hill, went Martimor, and she showed him all her 
flowers that were blue. But none of them was like 
the flower on his shield. 

“Is it this.?” she cried, giving him a violet. 

“Too dark,” said he. 

“Then here it is,” she said, plucking a posj of 
forget-me-not. 

“Too light,” said he. 

“Surely this is it,” and she brought him a spray 
of blue-bells. 

“Too slender,” said he, “and well I ween that I 
may not find that flower, till I ride farther in my 
quest and achieve great adventure.” 

Then was the Maid cast down, and Martimor 
was fain to comfort her. 

So while they walked thus in the garden, the 
days were fair and still, and the river ran lowly and 
slowly, as it were full of gentleness, and Flumen 
had amended him of his evil ways. But full of craft 
and guile was that false foe. For now that the gates 
were firm and strong, he found a way down 
through the corner of the dam, where a water-rat 
had burrowed, and there the water went seeping 
63 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


and creeping, gnawing ever at the hidden breach. 
Presently in the night came a mizzling rain, and 
far among the hills a cloud brake open, and the 
mill-pond flowed over and under, and the dam 
crumbled away, and the Mill shook, and the whole 
river ran roaring through the garden. 

Then was Martimor wonderly wroth, because 
the river had blotted out the Maid’s flowers. “And 
one day,” she cried, holding fast to him and trem- 
bling, “one day Flumen will have me, when thou 
art gone.” 

“Not so,” said he, “by the faith of my body 
that foul fiend shall never have thee. I will bind 
him, I will compel him, or die in the deed.” 

So he went forth, upward along the river, till he 
came to a strait place among the hills. There was a 
great rock full of caves and hollows, and there the 
water whirled and burbled in furious wise. “Here.” 
thought he, “is the hold of the knave Flumen, and 
if I may cut through above this rock and make a 
dyke with a gate in it, to let down the water an- 
other way when the floods come, so shall I spoil 
him of his craft and put him to the worse.” 

64 



Surely this is it,” and she brought him a spray of blue-bells. 




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THE MILL 


Then he toiled day and night to make the dyke, 
and ever by night Flumen came and strove with 
him, and did his power to cast him down and stran- 
gle him. But Martimor stood fast and drave him 
back. 

And at last, as they wrestled and whapped to- 
gether, they fell headlong in the stream. 

“Ho-o!” shouted Flumen, “now will I drown 
thee, and mar the Mill and the Maid.” 

But Martimor gripped him by the neck and 
thrust his head betwixt the leaves of the gate and 
shut them fast, so that his eyes stood out like gob- 
bets of foam, and his black tongue hung from his 
mouth like a water-weed. 

“Now shalt thou swear never to mar Mill nor 
Maid, but meekly to serve them,” cried Martimor. 

Then Flumen sware by wind and wave, by storm 
and stream, by rain and river, by pond and pool, 
by flood and fountain, by dyke and dam. 

“These be changeable things,” said Martimor, 
“swear by the Name of God.” 

So he sware, and even as the Name passed his 
teeth, the gobbets of foam floated forth from the 
65 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
gate, and the water-weed writhed away with the 
stream, and the river flowed fair and softly, with a 
sound like singing. 

Then Martimor came back to the Mill, and told 
how Flumen was overcome and made to swear a 
pact. Thus their hearts waxed light and jolly, and 
they kept that day as it were a love-day. 

VII 

How Martimor Bled for a Lady and Lived for a 
Maid, and how His Great Adventure Ended 
and Began at the Mill 

Now leave we of the Mill and Martimor and the 
Maid, and let us speak of a certain Lady, passing 
tall and fair and young. This was the Lady Beau- 
vivante, that was daughter to King Pellinore. And 
three false knights took her by craft from her 
father’s court and led her away to work their will 
on her. But she escaped from them as they slept by 
a well, and came riding on a white palfrey, over 
hill and dale, as fast as ever she could drive. 

Thus she came to the Mill, and her palfrey was 

66 


THE MILL 


spent, and there she took refuge, beseeching Marti- 
mor that he would hide her, and defend her from 
those caitiff knights that must soon follow. 

“Of hiding,” said he, “will I hear naught, but 
of defending am I full fain. For this have I 
waited.” 

Then he made ready his horse and his armour, 
and took both spear and sword, and stood forth 
in the bridge. Now this bridge was strait, so that 
none could pass there but singly, and that not till 
IMartimor yielded or was beaten down. 

Then came the three knights that followed the • 
Lady, riding fiercely down the hill. And when 
they came about ten spear-lengths from the bridge, 
they halted, and stood still as it had been a plump 
of wood. One rode in black, and one rode in yel- 
low, and the third rode in black and yellow. So 
they cried Martimor that he should give them pas- 
sage, for they followed a quest. 

“Passage takes, who passage makes !” cried 
Martimor. “Right well I know your quest, and it is 
a foul one.” 

Then the knight in black rode at him lightly, 
f>7 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
but Martiroor encountered him with the spear and 
smote him backward from his horse, that his head 
struck the coping of the bridge and brake his neck. 
Then came the knight in yellow, walloping heav- 
ily, and him the spear pierced through the 
midst of the body and burst in three pieces: so he 
fell on his back and the life went out of him, but 
the spear stuck fast and stood up from his breast 
as a stake. 

Then the knight in black and yellow, that was 
as big as both his brethren, gave a terrible shout, 
and rode at Martimor like a wood lion. But he 
fended with his shield that the spear went aside, 
and they clapped together like thunder, and both 
horses were overthrown. And lightly they avoided 
their horses and rushed together, tracing, rasing, 
and foining. Such strokes they gave that great 
pieces were clipped away from their hauberks, and 
their helms, and they staggered to and fro like 
drunken men. Then they hurtled together like rams 
and each battered other the wind out of his body. 
So they sat either on one side of the bridge, to take 
their breath, glaring the one at the other as two 
68 


THE MILL 


owls. Then they stepped together and fought 
freshly, smiting and thrusting, ramping and reel- 
ing, panting, snorting, and scattering blood, for 
the space of two hours. So the knight in black and 
yellow, because he was heavier, drave Martimor 
backward step by step till he came to the crown of 
the bridge, and there fell grovelling. At this the 
Lad3^ Beauvivante shrieked and wailed, but the 
damsel Lirette cried loudly, “Up ! Martimor, strike 
again !” 

Then the courage came into his body, and with a 
great might he abraid upon his feet, and smote the 
black and yellow knight upon the helm by an over- 
stroke so fierce that the sword sheared away the 
third part of his head, as if had been a rotten 
cheese. So he lay upon the bridge, and the blood 
ran out of him. And Martimor smote off the rest 
of his head quite, and cast it into the river. Like- 
wise did he with the other twain that lay dead be- 
yond the bridge. And he cried to Flumen, “Hide 
me these black eggs that hatched evil thoughts.” 
So the river bore them away. 

Then Martimor came into the Mill, all for-bled; 

69 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
“Now are ye free, lady,” he cried, and fell down in 
a swoon. Then the Lady and the Maid wept full 
sore and made great dole and unlaced his helm; 
and Lirette cherished him tenderly to recover his 
life. 

So while they were thus busied and distressed^ 
came Sir Lancelot with a great company of 
knights and squires riding for to rescue the prin- 
cess. When he came to the bridge all bedashed 
with blood, and the bodies of the knights headless, 
“Now, by my lady’s name,” said he, “here has 
been good fighting, and those three caitiffs are 
slain! By whose hand I wonder.?” 

So he came into the Mill, and there he found 
Martimor recovered of his swoon, and had marvel- 
lous joy of him, when he heard how he had 
wrought. 

“Now are thou proven worthy of the noble order 
of knighthood,” said Lancelot, and forthwith he 
dubbed him knight. 

Then he said that Sir Martimor should ride 
with him to the court of King Pellinore, to receive 
a castle and a fair lady to wife, for doubtless tne 
70 


THE MILL 

King would deny him nothing to reward the rescue 
of his daughter. 

But Martimor stood in a muse; then said he, 
‘‘May a knight have his free will and choice of cas- 
tles, where he will abide 

“Within the law,” said Lancelot, “and by the 
King’s word he may.” 

“Then choose I the Mill,” said Martimor, “for 
here will I dwell.” 

“Freely spoken,” said Lancelot, laughing, “so 
art thou Sir Martimor of the Mill; no doubt the 
King will confirm it. And now what sayest thou of 
ladies 

“May a knight have his free will and choice 
here also.?” said he. 

“According to his fortune,” said Lancelot, “and 
by the lady’s favour, he may.” 

“Well, then,” said Sir Martimor, taking Lirette 
by the hand, “this Maid is to me liefer to have and 
to wield as my wife than any dame or princess that 
is christened.” 

“What, brother,” said Sir Lancelot, “is ths wind 
in that quarter? And will the Maid have thee?” 

71 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


‘T will well,” said Lirette. 

‘‘Now are you well provided,” said Sir Lancelot, 
“with knighthood, and a castle, and a lady. Lacks 
but a motto and a name for the Blue Flower in thy 
shield.” 

“He that names it shall never find it,” said Sir 
Martimor, “and he that finds it needs no name.” 

So Lirette rejoiced Sir Martimor and loved to- 
gether during their life-days; and this is the end 
and the beginning of the Story of the Mill. 


SPY ROC)f^ 



SPY ROCK 


I 

£t must have been near Sutherland’s Pond that 
I lost the way. For there the deserted road which 
I had been following through the Highlands ran 
out upon a meadow all abloom with purple 
loose-strife and golden Saint- John’s wort. The de- 
clining sun cast a glory over the lonely field, and 
far in the comer, nigh to the woods, there was a 
touch of the celestial colour: blue of the sky seen 
between white clouds: blue of the sea shimmering 
through faint drifts of silver mist. The hope of 
finding that hue of distance and mystery embodied 
in a living form, the old hope of discovering the 
Blue Flower rose again in my heart. But it was 
only for a moment, for when I came nearer I saw 
that the colour which had caught my eye came 
from a multitude of closed gentians — the blossoms 
which never open into perfection — growing so 
closely together that their blended promise had 
seemed like a single flower. 

75 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

So I harked back again, slanting across the 
meadow, to find the road. But it had vanished. 
Wandering among the alders and clumps of gray 
birches, here and there I found a track that looked 
like it; but as I tried each one, it grew more faint 
and uncertain and at last came to nothing in a 
thicket or a marsh. While I was thus beating about 
the bush the sun dropped below the western rim of 
hills. It was necessary to make the most of the lin- 
gering light, if I did not wish to be benighted in 
the woods. The little village of Canterbury, which 
was the goal of my day’s march, must He about to 
the north just beyond the edge of the mountain, 
and in that direction I turned, pushing forward as 
rapidly as possible through the undergrowth. 

Presently I came into a region where the trees 
were larger and the travelling was easier. It was not 
a primeval forest, but a second growth of chestnuts 
and poplars and maples. Through the woods there 
ran at intervals long lines of broken rock, covered 
with moss — the ruins, evidently, of ancient stone 
fences. The land must have been, in former days, 
a farm, inhabited, cultivated, the home of human 
76 


SPY ROCK 

hopes and desires and labours, but now relapsed 
into solitude and wilderness. What could the life 
have been among these rugged and inhospitable 
Highlands, on this niggard and reluctant soil.^^ 
Where was the house that once sheltered the tillers 
of this rude corner of the earth 

Here, perhaps, in the little clearing into which 
I now emerged. A couple of decrepit apple-trees 
grew on the edge of it, and dropped their scanty 
and gnarled fruit to feast the squirrels. A little 
farther on, a straggling clump of ancient lilacs, a 
bewildered old bush of sweetbrier, the dark-green 
leaves of a cluster of tiger-lilies, long past bloom- 
ing, marked the grave of the garden. And here, 
above this square hollow in the earth, with the re- 
mains of a crumbling chimney standing sentinel 
beside it, here the house must have stood. What 
joys, what sorrows once centred around this cold 
and desolate hearth-stone.^ What children went 
forth like birds from this dismantled nest into the 

wide world What guests found refuge 

“Take care! stand back! There is a rattlesnake 
in the old cellar.” 

77 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

The voice, even more than the words, startled 
me. I drew away suddenly, and saw, behind the 
ruins of the chimney, a man of an aspect so strik- 
ing that to this day his face and figure are as vivid 
in my memory as if it were but yesterday that I 
had met him. 

He was dressed in black, the coat of a somewhat 
formal cut, a long cravat loosely knotted in his 
rolling collar. His head was bare, and the coal-black 
hair, thick and waving, was in some disorder. His 
face, smooth and pale, with high forehead, straight 
nose, and thin, sensitive lips — was It old or young? 
Handsome it certainly was, the face of a man of 
mark, a man of power. Yet there was something 
strange and wild about it. His dark eyes, with the 
fine wrinkles about them, had a look of unspeak- 
able remoteness, and at the same time an intensity 
that seemed to pierce me through and through. 
It was as if he saw me In a dream, yet measured 
me, weighed me with a scrutiny as exact as it was 
at bottom Indifferent. 

But his lips were smiling, and there was no fault 
to be found, at least, with his manner. He had risen 
78 


SPY ROCK 


from the broad stone where he had evidently' been 
sitting with his back against the chimney, and came 
forward to greet me. 

“You will pardon the abruptness of my greet- 
ing? I thought you might not care to make ac- 
quaintance with the present tenant of this old 
house — at least not without an introduction.” 

“Certainly not,” I answered, “you have done 
me a real kindness, which is better than the outward 
form of courtesy. But how is it that you stay at 
such close quarters with this unpleasant tenant? 
Have you no fear of him?” 

“Not the least in the world,” he answered, laugh- 
ing. “I know the snakes too well, better than they 
know themselves. It is not likely that even an old 
serpent with thirteen rattles, like this one, could 
harm me. I know his ways. Before he could strike 
I should be out of reach.” 

“Well,” said I, “it is a grim thought, at all 
events, that this house, once a cheerful home, no 
doubt, should have fallen at last to be the dwelling 
of such a vile creature.” 

“Fallen!” he exclaimed. Then he repeated the 

79 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


word with a questioning accent — “fallen? Are you 
sure of that? The snake, in his way, may be quite 
as honest as the people who lived here before him, 
and not much more harmful. The farmer was a 
miser who robbed his mother, quarrelled with his 
brother, and starved his wife. What she lacked in 
food, she made up in drink, when she could. One 
of the children, a girl, was a cripple, lamed by 
her mother in a fit of rage. The two boys were ne’er- 
do'Weels who ran away from home as soon as they 
were old enough. One of them is serving a life- 
sentence in the State prison for manslaughter. 
When the house burned down some thirty years 
ago, the woman escaped. The man’s body was found 
with the head crushed in — perhaps by a falling 
timber. The family of our friend the rattlesnake 
could hardly surpass that record, I think. But why 
should we blame them — any of them? They were 
only acting out their natures. To one who can see 
and understand, it is all perfectly simple, and in- 
teresting — immensely interesting.” 

It is impossible to describe the quiet eagerness, 
the cool glow of fervour with which he narrated 
80 


SPY ROCK 

Ihis little history. It was the manner of the trium- 
phant pathologist who lays bare some hidden seat 
of disease. It surprised and repelled me a little; 
yet it attracted me, too, for I could see how evi- 
dently^ he counted on my comprehension and sym- 
pathy. 

“Well,” said I, “it is a pitiful history. Rural life 
is not all peace and innocence. But how came you 
to know the story?” 

“I? Oh, I make it my business to know a little 
of everything, and as much as possible of human 
life, not excepting the petty chronicles of the 
rustics around me. It is my chief pleasure. I earn 
my living by teaching boys. I find my satisfaction 
in studying men. But you are on a journey, sir, 
and night is falling. I must not detain you. Or 
perhaps you will allow me to forward you a little 
by serving as a guide. Which way were you going 
when you turned aside to look at this dismantled 
shrine?” 

“To Canterbury,” I answered, “to find a night’s, 
or a month’s, lodging at the inn. My journey is 
a ramble, it has neither terminus nor time-table.” 

81 


THE BLUE EL O WEB 

'‘Then let me commend to you something vastly 
better than the tender mercies of the Canterbury 
Inn. Come with me to the school on Hilltop, where 
I am a teacher. It is a thousand feet above the 
village — purer air, finer view^ and pleasanter com- 
pany. There is plenty of room in the house, for it 
is vacation-time. Master Isaac Ward is always glad 
to entertain guests,” 

There was something so sudden and unconven- 
tional about the invitation that I was reluctant to 
accept it; but he gave it naturally and pressed it 
wdth earnest courtesy, assuring me that it was in 
accordance with Master Ward’s custom, that he 
would be much disappointed to lose the chance of 
talking with an interesting traveller, that he would 
far rather let me pay him for m^^ lodging than 
have me go by, and so on — so that at last I con- 
sented. 

Three minutes’ walking from the deserted clear- 
ing brought us into a travelled road. It circled 
the breast of the mountain, and as we stepped along 
it in the dusk I learned something of my compan- 
ion. His name was Edward Keene ; he taught Latin 
82 


SPY ROCK 


and Greek in the Hilltop School ; he had studied for 
the ministry, but had given it up, I gathered, on 
account of a certain loss of interest, or rather a 
diversion of interest in another direction. He spoke 
of himself with an impersonal candour. 

“Preachers must be always trying to persuade 
men,” he said. “But what I care about is to know 
men. I don’t care what they do. Certainly I have 
no wish to interfere with them in their doings, for 
I doubt whether anyone can really change them. 
Each tree bears its own fruit, you see, and by their 
fruits you know them.” 

“What do you say to grafting? That changes 
the fruit, surely?” 

“Yes, but a grafted tree is not really one tree. 
It is two trees growing together. There is a double 
life in it, and the second life, the added life, dom- 
inates the other. The stock becomes a kind of ani- 
mate soil for the graft to grow in.” 

Presently the road dipped into a little valley 
and rose again, breasting the slope of a wooded hill 
which thrust itself out from the steeper flank of 
the mountain-range. Down the hill-side a song 
83 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
floated to meet us — that most noble lyric of old 
Robert Herrick: 

Bid inc to Iwe^ and I will live 
Thy Protestant to be ; 

Or bid me love, and I tvill give 
A loving heart to thee. 

It was a girl’s voice, fresh and clear, with a 
note of tenderness in it that thrilled me. Keene’s 
pace quickened. And soon the singer came in sight, 
stepping lightly down the road, a shape of slender 
whiteness on the background of gathering night. 
She was beautiful even in that dim light, with 
brown eyes and hair, and a face that seemed to 
breathe purity and trust. Yet there was a trace 
of anxiety in it, or so I fancied, that gave it an 
appealing charm. 

“You have come at last, Edward,” she cried, 
running forward and putting her hand in his. 
“It is late. You have been out all day; I began to 
be afraid.” 

“Not too late,” he answered; “there was no need 
for fear, Dorothy. I am not alone, you see.” And 
84 > 


SPY ROCK 


keeping her hand, he introduced me to the daugh- 
ter of Master Ward. 

It was easy to guess the relation between these 
two young people who walked beside me in the 
dusk. It needed no words to say that they were 
lovers. Yet it w'ould have needed many words 
to define the sense, that came to me gradually, of 
something singular in the tie that bound them to- 
gether. On his part there was a certain tone of 
half-playful condescension toward her such as one 
might use to a lovely child, which seemed to match 
but ill with her unconscious attitude of watchful 
care, of tender solicitude for him — almost like the 
manner of an elder sister. Lovers they surely were, 
and acknowledged lovers, for their frankness of 
demeanour sought no concealment; but I felt that 
there must be 

A little rift mthin the lute, 

though neither of them might know it. Each one’s 
thought of the other was different from the other’s 
thought of self. There could not be a complete 
understanding, a perfect accord. What was tne 
85 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
secret, of which each knew half, but not the other 
half? 

Thus, with steps that kept time, but with 
thoughts how wide apart, we came to the door of 
the school. A warm flood of light poured out to 
greet us. The Master, an elderly, placid, comfort- 
able man, gave me just the welcome that had been 
promised in his name. The supper was waiting, 
and the evening passed in such happy cheer that 
the bewilderments and misgivings of the twilight 
melted away, and at bedtime I dropped into the 
nest of sleep as one who has found a shelter among 
friends. 


II 

The Hilltop School stood on a blessed site. Lifted 
high above the village, it held the crest of the last 
gentle wave of the mountains that filled the south 
with crowding billows, ragged and tumultuous. 
Northward, the great plain lay at our feet, smil- 
ing in the sun; meadows and groves, yellow fields 
of harvest and green orchards, white roads and 
clustering towns, with here and there a little city 
86 


SPY HOCK 


on the bank of the mightj^ river which curved in 
a vast line of beauty toward the blue Catskill 
Range, fifty miles away. Lines of filmy smoke, like 
vanishing footprints in the air, marked the pas- 
sage of railway trains across the landscape — their 
swift flight reduced by distance to a leisurely tran- 
sition. The bright surface of the stream was fur- 
rowed by a hundred vessels; tiny rowboats creep- 
ing from shore to shore; knots of black barges 
following the lead of puffing tugs; sloops with 
languid motion tacking against the tide; white 
steamboats, like huge toy-houses, crowded with 
pygmy inhabitants, moving smoothly on their way 
to the great city, and disappearing suddenly as 
they turned into the narrows between Storm-King 
and the Fishkill Mountains. Down there was life, 
incessant, varied, restless, intricate, many-coloured 
• — down there was history, the highway of ancient 
voyagers since the days of Hendrik Iludson, the 
hunting-ground of Indian tribes, the scenes of 
massacre and battle, the last camp of the Army 
of the Revolution, the Head-quarters of Wash- 
ington — dow n there were the homes of legend and 
87 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
poetry, the dreamlike hills of Rip van Winkle’s 
sleep, the cliffs and caves haunted by the Culprit 
Fay, the solitudes traversed by the Spy — all out- 
spread before us, and visible as in a Claude Lor- 
raine glass, in the tranquil lucidity of distance. 
And here, on the hilltop, was our own life; se- 
cluded, yet never separated from the other life; 
looking down upon it, yet woven of the same stuff ; 
peaceful in circumstance, yet ever busy with its 
own tasks, and holding in its quiet heart all the 
elements of joy and sorrow and tragic conse- 
quence. 

The Master was a man of most unworldly wis- 
dom. In his youth a great traveller, he had brought 
home many observations, a few views, and at least 
one theory. To him the school was the most im- 
portant of human institutions — more vital even 
than the home, because it held the first real ex- 
perience of social contact, of free intercourse with 
other minds and lives coming from different house- 
holds and embodying different strains of blood. 
‘^My school,” said he, “is the world in miniature. 
If I can teach these boys to study and play to- 
88 


SPY ROCK 

gether freely and with fairness to one another, I 
shall make men fit to live and work together in 
society. What they learn matters less than how 
they learn it. The great thing is the bringing out 
of individual character so that it will find its place 
in social harmony.” 

Yet never man knew less of character in the 
concrete than Master Ward. To him each person 
represented a type — the scientific, the practical, 
the poetic. From each one he expected, and in each 
one he found, to a certain degree, the fruit of the 
marked quality, the obvious, the characteristic. 
But of the deeper character, made up of a hun- 
dred traits, coloured and conditioned most vitally 
by something secret and in itself apparently of 
slight importance, he was placidly unconscious. 
Classes he knew. Individuals escaped him. Yet he 
was a most companionable man, a social solitary, 
a friendly hermit. 

His daughter Dorothy seemed to me even more 
fair and appealing by daylight than when I first 
saw her in the dusk. There was a pure brightness 
in her brown eyes, a gentle dignity in her look 
89 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

and bearing, a soft cadence of expectant joy in 
her voice. She was womanly in every tone and mo- 
tion, yet by no means weak or uncertain. Mistress 
of herself and of the house, she ruled her kingdom 
without an effort. Busied with many little cares, 
she bore them lightly. Her spirit overflowed into 
the lives around her with delicate sympathy and 
merry cheer. But it was in music that her nature 
found its widest outlet. In the lengthening even- 
ings of late August she would play from Schu- 
mann, or Chopin, or Grieg, Interpreting the vague 
feelings of gladness or grief which lie too deep for 
words. Ballads she loved, quaint old English and 
Scotch airs, folk-songs of German}^, ‘‘Come-all- 
ye’s” of Ireland, Canadian chansons. She sang — 
not like an angel, but like a woman. 

Of the two under-masters in the school, Edward 
Keene was the elder. The younger, John Graham, 
was his opposite in every respect. Sturdy, fair- 
haired, plain in the face, he was essentially an 
every-day man, devoted to out-of-door sports, a 
hard worker, a good player, and a sound sleeper. 
He came back to the school, from a fishing-excur- 
90 


SPY ROCK 

sion, a few days after my arrival. I liked the way 
in which he told of his adventures, with a little 
frank boasting, enough to season but not to spoil 
the story. I liked the way in which he took hold of 
his work, helping to get the school in readiness for 
the return of the boys in the middle of September. 
I liked, more than all, his attitude to Dorothy 
Ward. He loved her, clearly enough. When she 
was in the room the other people were only acci- 
dents to him. Yet there was nothing of the dis- 
appointed suitor in his bearing. He was cheerful, 
natural, accepting the situation, giving her the 
best he had to give, and gladly taking from her 
the frank reliance, the ready comradeship which 
she bestowed upon him. If he envied Keene — and 
how could he help it — at least he never showed a 
touch of jealousy or rivalry. The engagement was 
a fact which he took into account as something not 
to be changed or questioned. Keene was so much 
more brilliant, interesting, attractive. He answered 
so much more fully to the poetic side of Dorothy’s 
nature. How could she help preferring him? 

Thus the three actors in the drama stood, when 
91 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


I became an inmate of Hilltop, and accepted the 
master’s invitation to undertake some of the minor 
classes in English, and stay on at the school in- 
definitely. It was my wish to see the little play — a 
pleasant comedy, I hoped — move forward to a 
happy ending. And yet — what was it that dis- 
turbed me now and then with forebodings Some- 
thing, doubtless, in the character of Keene, for he 
was the dominant personality. The key of the situ- 
ation lay with him. He was the centre of interest. 
Yet he was the one who seemed not perfectly in 
harmony, not quite at home, as if something beck- 
oned and urged him away. 

“I am glad you are to stay,” said he, “yet I 
wonder at it. You will find the life narrow, after 
all your travels. Ulysses at Ithaca — ^you will surely 
be restless to see the world again.” 

“If you find the life broad enough, I ought not 
to be cramped in it.” 

“ Ah, but I have compensations.” 

“One you certainly have,” said I, thinking of 
Dorothy, “and that one is enough to make a man 
happy anywhere.” 


92 


SPY ROCK 


‘‘Yes, yes,” he answered, quickly, “but that is 
not what I mean. It is not there that I look for 
a wider life. Love — do you think that love broad- 
ens a man’s outlook.? To me it seems to make him 
narrower — ^happier, perhaps, within his own little 
circle — but distinctly narrower. Knowledge is the 
only thing that broadens life, sets it free from the 
tyranny of the parish, fills it with the sense of 
power. And love is the opposite of knowledge. Love 
is a kind of an illusion — a happy illusion, that is 
what love is. Don’t you see that.?” 

“See it.?” I cried. “I don’t know what you mean. 
Do you mean that you don’t really care for Dor- 
othy Ward.? Do you mean that what you have won 
in her is an illusion.? If so, you are as wrong as a 
man can be.” 

“No, no,” he answered, eagerly, “you know I 
don’t mean that. I could not live without her. But 
love is not the only reality. There is something 
else, something broader, something 

“Come away,” I said, “come away, man! You 
are talking nonsense, treason. You are not true 
to yourself. You’ve been working too hard at your 
93 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

books. There’s a maggot in your brain. Come out 
for a long walk.” 

That indeed was what he liked best. He was a 
magnificent walker, easy, steady, unwearying. He 
knew every road and lane in the valleys, every 
footpath and trail among the mountains. But he 
cared little for walking in company ; one compan- 
ion was the most that he could abide. And, strange 
to say, it was not Dorothy whom he chose for his 
most frequent comrade. With her he would saunter 
down the Black Brook path, or climb slowly to 
the first ridge of Storm-King. But with me he 
pushed out to the farthest pinnacle that overhangs 
the river, and down through the Lonely Heart 
gorge, and over the pass of the White Horse, and 
up to the peak of Cro’ Nest, and across the rugged 
summit of Black Rock. At every wider outlook a 
strange exhilaration seemed to come upon him. 
His spirit glowed like a live coal in the wind. He 
overflowed with brilliant talk and curious stories 
of the villages and scattered houses that we could 
see from our eyries. 

But it was not with me that he made his longest 
94 


SPY ROCK 

expeditions. They were solitary. Early on Satur- 
day he would leave the rest of us, with some slight 
excuse, and start away on the mountain-road, to 
be gone all day. Sometimes he would not return 
till long after dark. Then I could see the anxious 
look deepen on Dorothy’s face, and she would slip 
away down the road to meet him. But he always 
came back in good spirits, talkable and charming. 
It was the next day that the reaction came. The 
black fit took him. He was silent, moody, bitter. 
Holding himself aloof, yet never giving utterance 
to any irritation, he seemed half-unconsciously to 
resent the claims of love and friendship, as if 
they irked him. There was a look in his eyes as if 
he measured us, weighed us, analysed us all as 
strangers. 

Yes, even Dorothy. I have seen her go to meet 
him with a flower in her hand that she had plucked 
for him, and turn away with her lips trembling, 
too proud to say a word, dropping the flower on 
the grass. John Graham saw it, too. He waited till 
she was gone; then he picked up the flower and 
kept it. 


95 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


There was nothing to take offence at, nothing 
an which one could lay a finger; only these singu- 
lar alternations of mood which made Keene now 
the most delightful of friends, now an intimate 
stranger In the circle. The change was inexplica- 
ble. But certainly it seemed to have some connec- 
tion, as cause or consequence, with his long, lonely 
walks. 

Once, when he was absent, we spoke of his re- 
markable fluctuations of spirit. 

The master labelled him. “He is an idealist, a 
dreamer. They are always uncertain.” 

I blamed him. “He gives way too much to his 
moods. He lacks self-control. He is in danger of 
spoiling a fine nature.” 

I looked at Dorothy. She defended him. “AVhy 
should he be always the same? He is too great 
for that. His thoughts make him restless, and 
sometimes he is tired. Surely you wouldn’t have 
him act what he don’t feel. Why do you want him 
to do that?” 

“I don’t know,” said Graham, with a short 
laugh. “None of us know. But what we all want 
.Q6 


SPY ROCK 

just now is music. Dorothy, will you sing a littk 
for us?” 

So she sang “The Coulin,” and “The Days o’ 
the Kerry Dancin’,” and “The Hawthorn Tree,” 
and “The Green Woods of Truigha,” and “Flow- 
ers o’ the Forest,” and la claire Fontaine,** 
until the twilight was filled with peace. 

The boys came back to the school. The wheels 
of routine began to turn again, slowly and with a 
little friction at first, then smoothly and swiftly 
as if they had never stopped. Summer reddened 
into autumn; autumn bronzed into fall. The ma- 
ples and poplars were bare. The oaks alone kept 
their rusted crimson glory, and the cloaks of 
spruce and hemlock on the shoulders of the hills 
grew dark wdth wintry foliage. Keene’s transitions 
of mood became more frequent and more extreme. 
The gulf of isolation that divided him from us 
when the black days came seemed wider and more 
unfathomable. Dorothy and John Graham were 
thrown more constantly together. Keene appeared 
to encourage their companionship. He watched 
them curiously, sometimes, not as if he were jeab 
97 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


ous, but rather as if he were interested in some 
delicate experiment. At other times he would be 
singularly indifferent to everything, remote, ab- 
stracted, forgetful. 

Dorothy’s birthday, which fell in mid-October, 
was kept as a holiday. In the morning everyone 
had some little birthday gift for her, except Keene. 
He had forgotten the birthday entirely. The 
shadow of disappointment that quenched the 
brightness of her face was pitiful. Even he could 
not be blind to it. He flushed as if surprised, and 
hesitated a moment, evidently in conflict with him- 
self. Then a look of shame and regret came into his 
eyes. He made some excuse for not going with us 
to the picnic, at the Black Brook Falls, with which 
the day was celebrated. In the afternoon, as we 
all sat around the camp-fire, he came swinging 
through the woods with his long, swift stride, and 
going at once to Dorothy laid a little brooch of 
pearl and opal in her hand. 

“Will you forgive me?” he said. “I hope this 
is not too late. But I lost the train back from 
Newburg and walked home. I pray that you may 
98 


SPY ROCK 


never know any tears but pearls, and that there 
may be nothing changeable about you but the 
opal.” 

“Oh, Edward!” she cried, “how beautiful! 
Thank you a thousand times. But I wish you had 
been with us all day. We have missed you so 
much !” 

For the rest of that day simplicity and clear- 
ness and joy came back to us. Keene was at his 
best, a leader of friendly merriment, a master of 
good-fellowship, a prince of delicate chivalry. 
Dorothy’s loveliness unfolded like a flower in the 
sun. 

But the Indian summer of peace was brief. It 
was hardly a week before Keene’s old moods re- 
turned, darker and stranger than ever. The girl’s 
unconcealable bewilderment, her sense of wounded 
loyalty and baffled anxiety, her still look of hurt 
and wondering tenderness, increased from day to 
day. John Graham’s temper seemed to change, sud- 
denly and completely. From the best-humoured 
and most careless fellow in the world, he became 
silent, thoughtful, irritable toward everyone except 
99 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


Dorothy. With Keene he was curt and impatient, 
avoiding him as much as possible, and when they 
were together, evidently struggling to keep down 
a deep dislike and rising anger. They had had 
sharp words when they were alone, I was sure, but 
Keene’s coolness seemed to grow with Graham’s 
heat. There was no open quarrel. 

One Saturday evening, Graham came to me. 
“You have seen what is going on here.?” he said. 

“Something, at least,” I answered, “and I am 
very sorry for it. But I don’t quite understand it.” 

“Well, I do ; and I’m going to put an end to it. 
I’m going to have it out with Ned Keene. He is 
breaking her heart.” 

“But are you the right one to take the matter 
up?” 

“Who else is there to do it?” 

“Her father.” 

“He sees nothing, comprehends nothing. ‘Prac- 
tical type — poetic type — misunderstandings sure 
to arise — come together after a while — each supply 
the other’s deficiencies.’ Cursed folly! And the girl 
is so unhappy that she can’t tell anyone. It shall 
?00 


SPY ROCK 

not go on, I say. Keene is out on the road now, 
taking one of his infernal walks. Pm going to meet 
him.” 

“I’m afraid it will make trouble. Let me go with 
you.” 

“The trouble is made. Come if you like. I’m 
going now.” 

The night lay heavy upon the forest. Where 
the road dipped through the valley we could 
hardly see a rod ahead of us. But higher up where 
the way curved around the breast of the mountain, 
the woods were thin on the left, and on the right 
a sheer precipice fell away to the gorge of the 
brook. In the dim starlight we saw Keene striding 
toward us. Graham stepped out to meet him. 

“Where have you been, Ned Keene he cried. 
The cry was a challenge. Keene lifted his head 
and stood still. Then he laughed and took a step 
forward. 

“Taking a long walk. Jack Graham,” he an- 
swered. “It was glorious. You should have been 
with me. But why this sudden question?” 

“Because your long walk is a pretence. You are 
101 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


playing false. There is some woman that you go 
to see at West Point, at Highland Falls, who knows 
where?” 

Keene laughed again. 

“Certainly you don’t know, my dear fellow; and 
neither do I. Since when has walking become a vice 
in your estimation? You seem to be in a fierce 
mood. What’s the matter ?” 

“I will tell you what’s the matter. You have 
been acting like a brute to the girl you profess 
to love.” 

“Plain words! But between friends frankness is 
best. Did she ask you to tell me?” 

“No! You know too well she would die before 
she would speak. You are killing her, that is what 
you are doing with your devilish moods and mys- 
teries. You must stop. Do you hear? You must 
give her up.” 

“I hear well enough, and it sounds like a word 
for her and two for yourself. Is that it?” 

“Damn you,” cried the younger man, “let the 

words go! we’ll settle it this way” and he 

«t)rang at the other’s throat. 


102 


SPY ROCK 


Keene, cool and well-braced, met him with a 
heavy blow in the chest. He recoiled, and I rushed 
between them, holding Graham back, and pleading 
for self-control. As we stood thus, panting and 
confused, on the edge of the cliff, a singing voice 
floated up to us from the shadows across the valley. 
It was Herrick’s song again: 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free 
As in the whole world thou canst find. 

That heart Til ^ve to thee. 

“Come, gentlemen,” I cried, “this is folly, sheer 
madness. You can never deal with the matter in 
this way. Think of the girl who is singing down 
yonder. What would happen to her, what would she 
suffer, from scandal, from her own feelings, if 
either of you should be killed, or even seriously 
hurt by the other.? There must be no quarrel be- 
tween you.” 

“Certainly,” said Keene, whose poise, if shaken 
at all, had returned, “certainly, you are right. It 
is not of my seeking, nor shall I be the one to keep 
'03 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
it up. I am willing to let it pass. It is but a small 
matter at most.” 

I turned to Graham — ‘‘And you.^” 

He hesitated a little, and then said, doggedly: 
“On one condition.” 

“And that is .?” 

“Keene must explain. He must answer my ques- 
tion.” 

“Do you accept?” I asked Keene. 

“Yes and no!” he replied. “No! to answering 
Graham’s question. He is not the person to ask 
it. I wonder that he does not see the impropriety, 
the absurdity of his meddling at all in this affair. 
Besides, he could not understand my answer even 
if he believed it. But to the explanation, I say. 
Yes! I will give it, not to Graham, but to you. I 
make you this proposition. To-morrow is Sunday. 
We shall be excused from service if we tell the 
master that we have Important business to settle 
together. You shall come with me on one of my 
long walks. I will tell you all about them. Then 
you can be the judge whether there is any harm in 
them.” 

lOOk 


SPY ROCK 

“Does that satisfy you ?” I said to Graham. 

“Yes,” he answered, “that seems fair enough. 1 
am content to leave it in that way for the present. 
And to make it still more fair, I want to take back 
what I said awhile ago, and to ask Keene’s pardon 
for it.” 

“Not at all,” said Keene, quickly, “it was said 
in haste, I bear no grudge. You simply did not 
understand, that is all.” 

So we turned to go down the hill, and as we 
turned, Dorothy met us, coming out of the 
shadows. 

“What are you men doing here.?” she asked. 
“I heard your voices from below. What were you 
talking about.?” 

“We were talking,” said Keene, “my dear Dor- 
othy, we were talking — about walking — yes, that 
was it — about walking, and about views. The con- 
versation was quite warm, almost a debate. Now, 
you know all the view-points in this region. Which 
do you call the best, the most satisfying, the finest 
prospect .? But I know what you will say : the view 
from the little knoll in front of Hilltop. For there, 
J05 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


when you are tired of looking far away, you can 
turn around and see the old school, and the linden- 
trees, and the garden.” 

“Yes,” she answered gravely, “that is really the 
view that I love best. I would give up all the others 
rather than lose that,” 


III 

Theee was a softness in the November air that 
brought back memories of summer, and a few be- 
lated daisies were blooming in the old clearing, as 
Keene and I passed by the ruins of the farm-house 
again, early on Sunday morning. .He had been 
talking ever since we started, pouring out his 
praise of knowledge, wide, clear, universal knowl- 
edge, as the best of life’s joys, the greatest of life’s 
achievements. The practical life was a blind, dull 
routine. Most men were toiling at tasks which they 
did not like, by rules which they did not under- 
stand. They never looked beyond the edge of their 
work. The philosophical life was a spider’s web — 
filmy threads of theory spun out of the inner con* 
206 


SPY ROCK 

sclousness — it touched the world only at certain 
chosen points of attachment. There was nothing 
firm, nothing substantial in it. You could look 
through it like a veil and see the real world lying 
beyond. But the theorist could see only the web 
which he had spun. Knowing did not come by spec- 
ulating, theorising. Knowing came by seeing. Vis- 
ion was the only real knowledge. To see the world, 
the whole world, as it is, to look behind the scenes, 
to read human life like a book, that was the glor- 
ious thing — most satisfying, divine. 

Thus he had talked as we climbed the hill. Now, 
as we came by the place where we had first met, a 
new eagerness sounded in his voice. 

“Ever since that day I have inclined to tell you 
something more about myself. I felt sure you 
would understand. I am planning to write a book — • 
a book of knowledge, in the true sense — a great 
book about human life. Not a history, not a theory, 
but a real view of life, its hidden motives, its secret 
relations. How different they are from what men 
dream and imagine and play that they are! How 
much darker, how much smaller, and therefore how 
107 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

much more interesting and wonderful. No one has 
yet written — perhaps because no one has yet con- 
ceived — such a book as I have in mind. I might 
call it a ‘Bionopsis.’ ” 

“But surely,” said I, “you have chosen a strange 
place to write it — the Hilltop School — this quiet 
and secluded region ! The stream of humanity 
is very slow and slender here — it trickles. You 
must get out into the busy world. You must be in 
the full current and feel its force. You must take 
part in the active life of mankind in order really to 
know it.” 

“A mistake !” he cried. “Action is the thing that 
blinds men. You remember Matthew Arnold’s line: 

In actions dizzying eddy whirled. 

To know the W'orld you must stand apart from it 
and above it; you must look down on it.” 

“Well, then,” said I, “you will have to find some 
secret spring of inspiration, some point of vantage 
from which you can get your outlook and your 
insight.” 

He stopped short and looked me full in the face. 

108 


SPY ROCK 

‘‘And that,” cried he, “is precisely what I have 
found !” 

Then he turned and pushed along the narrow 
trail so swiftly that I had hard work to follow him. 
After a few minutes we came to a little stream, 
flowing through a grove of hemlocks. Keene seated 
himself on the fallen log that served for a bridge 
and beckoned me to a place beside him. 

“I promised to give you an explanation to-day 
• — to take you on one of my long walks. Well, there 
is only one of them. It is always the same. You shall 
see where it leads, what it means. You shall share 
my secret — all the wonder and glory of it! Of 
course I know my conduct has seemed strange to 
you. Sometimes it has seemed strange even to me. 
I have been doubtful, troubled, almost distracted. 
I have been risking a great deal, in danger of los- 
ing what I value, what most men count the best 
thing in the world. But it could not be helped. 
The risk was worth while. A great discovery, the 
opportunity of a lifetime, yes, of an age, perhaps 
of many ages, came to me. I simply could not 
throw it away. I must use it, make the best of it, 
109 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


at any danger, at any cost. You shall judge for 
yourself whether I w^as right or wrong. But you 
must judge fairly, without haste, without preju- 
dice. I ask you to make me one promise. You will 
suspend judgment, you will say nothing, you will 
keep my secret, until you have been with me three 
times at the place where I am now taking you.” 

By this time it was clear to me that I had to do 
w ith a case lying far outside of the common routine 
of life; something subtle, abnormal, hard to meas- 
ure, in which a clear and careful estimate would 
be necessary. If Keene was labouring under some 
strange delusion, some disorder of mind, how could 
I estimate its nature or extent, without time and 
study, perhaps without expert advice.? To wait a 
little would be prudent, for his sake as well as for 
the sake of othei’s. If there was some extraordinary 
reality behind his mysterious hints, it would need 
patience and skill to test it. I gave him the promise 
for which he asked. 

At once, as if relieved, he sprang up, and cry- 
ing, “Come on, follow me !” began to make his way 
up the bed of the brook. It was one of the wildest 

no 


SPY ROCK 

walks that I have ever taken. He turned aside for 
no obstacles ; swamps, masses of interlacing alders, 
close-woven thickets of stiff young spruces, 
chevaux-de-frise of dead trees where wind-falls had 
mowed down the forest, walls of lichen-crusted 
rock, landslides where heaps of broken stone were 
tumbled in ruinous confusion — through every- 
thing he pushed forward. I could see, here and 
there, the track of his former journeys: broken 
branches of witch-hazel and moose-wood, ferns 
trampled down, a faint trail across some deeper 
bed of moss. At mid-day we rested for a half-hour 
to eat lunch. But Keene would eat nothing, except 
a little pellet of some dark green substance that he 
took from a flat silver box in his pocket. He swal- 
lowed it hastily, and stooping his face to the 
spring b^^ which he had halted, drank long and 
eagerly. 

“An Indian trick,” said he, shaking the drops 
of water from his face. “On a walk, food is a hin- 
drance, a delay. But this tiny taste of bitter gum 
is a tonic; it spurs the courage and doubles the 
strength — if you are used to it. Otherwise I should 
111 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
not recommend you to try it. Faugh! the flavour 
is vile.” 

He rinsed his mouth again with water, and stood 
up, calling me to come on. The way, now tangled 
among the nameless peaks and ranges, bore stead- 
ily southward, rising all the time, in spite of many 
brief downward curves where a steep gorge must 
be crossed. Presently we came into a hard-wood 
forest, open and easy to travel. Breasting a long 
slope, we reached the summit of a broad, smoothly 
rounding ridge covered with a dense growth of 
stunted spruce. The trees rose above our heads, 
about twice the height of a man, and so thick that 
we could not see beyond them. But, from glimpses 
here and there, and from the purity and lightness 
of the air, I judged that we were on far higher 
ground than any we had yet traversed, the central 
comb, perhaps, of the mountain-system. 

A few yards ahead of us, through the crowded 
trunks of the dwarf forest, I saw a gray mass, like 
the wall of a fortress, across our path. It was a 
vast rock, rising from the crest of the ridge, lifting 
its top above the sea of foliage. At its base there 
U2 


SPY ROCK 


were heaps of shattered stones, and deep crevices 
almost like caves. One side of the rock was broken 
by a slanting gully. 

“Be careful,” cried my companion, “there is a 
rattlers’ den somewhere about here. The snakes are 
in their winter quarters now, almost dormant, but 
they can still strike if you tread on them. Step 
here ! Give me your hand — use that point of rock — 
hold fast by this bush; it is firmly rooted — so! 
Here we are on Spy Rock! You have heard of it? 
I thought so. Other people have heard of it, and 
imagine that they have found it — five miles east of 
us — on a lower ridge. Others think it is a peak 
just back of Cro’ Nest. All wrong! There is but 
one real Spy Rock — here ! This earth holds no more 
perfect view-point. It is one of the rare places from 
which a man may see the kingdoms of the world 
and all the glory of them. Look !” 

The prospect was indeed magnificent; it was 
strange what a vast enlargement of vision resulted 
from the slight elevation above the surrounding 
peaks. It was like being lifted up so that we could 
look over the walls. The horizon expanded as if by 
113 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


magic. The vast circumference of vision swept 
around us with a radius of a hundred miles. Moun- 
tain and meadow, forest and field, river and lake, 
hill and dale, village and farmland, far-off city 
and shimmering water — all lay open to our sight, 
and over all the westering sun wove a transparent 
robe of gem-like hues. Every feature of the land- 
scape seemed alive, quivering, pulsating with con- 
scious beauty. You could almost see the world 
breathe. 

“Wonderful!” I cried. “Most wonderful! You 
have found a mount of vision.” 

“Ah,” he answered, “you don’t half see the won- 
der yet, you don’t begin to appreciate it. Your 
eyes are new to it. You have not learned the power 
of far sight, the secret of Spy Rock. You are still 
shut in by the horizon.” 

“Do you mean to say that you can look beyond 
it?” 

“Beyond yours — ^yes. And beyond any that you 
would dream possible — See! Your sight reaches 
to that dim cloud of smoke in the south? And be- 
neath it you can make out, perhaps, a vague blotch 

114 


SPY ROCK 

of shadow, or a tiny flash of brightness where the 
sun strikes it? New York! But I can see the great 
buildings, the domes, the spires, the crowded 
wharves, the tides of people whirling through the 
streets — and beyond that, the sea, with the ships 
coming and going! I can follow them on their 
courses — and beyond that — Oh! when I am on 
Spy Rock I can see more than other men can im- 
agine.” 

For a moment, strange to say, I almost fancied 
I could follow him. The magnetism of his spirit 
imposed upon me, carried me away with him. Then 
sober reason told me that he was talking of im- 
possibilities. 

“Keene,” said I, “you are dreaming. The view 
and the air have intoxicated you. This is a phan- 
tasy, a delusion !” 

“It pleases you to call it so,” he said, “but I 
only tell you my real experience. Why it should 
be impossible I do not understand. There is no 
reason why the power of sight should not be cul- 
tivated, enlarged, expanded indefinitely.” 

“And the straight rays of light?” I asked. 

115 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
“And the curvature of the earth which makes a 
horizon inevitable?” 

“Who knows what a raj of light is?” said he. 
“Who can prove that it may not be curved, under 
certain conditions, or refracted in some places in 
a way that is not possible elsewhere? I tell you 
there is something extraordinary about this Spy 
Rock. It is a seat of power — Nature’s observatory. 
More things are visible here than anywhere else — 
more than I have told you yet. But come, we have 
little time left. For half an hour, each of us shall 
enjoy what he can see. Then home again to the nar- 
rower outlook, the restricted life.” 

The downward journey was swifter than the 
ascent, but no less fatiguing. By the time we 
reached the school, an hour after dark, I was very 
tired. But Keene was in one of his moods of ex- 
hilaration. He glowed like a piece of phosphorus 
that has been drenched with light. 

Graham took the first opportunity of speaking 
with me alone. 

“Well?” said he. 

“Well!” I answered. “You were wrong. There 
116 


SPY ROCK 


is no treason in Keene’s walks, no guilt in his 
moods. But there is something very strange. I can- 
not form a judgment yet as to what we should do. 
We must wait a few days. It will do no harm to 
be patient. Indeed, I have promised not to judge, 
not to speak of it, until a certain time. Are you 
satisfied 

“This is a curious story,” said he, “and I am 
puzzled by it. But I trust you, I agree to wait, 
though I am far from satisfied.” 

Our second expedition was appointed for the 
following Saturday. Keene was hungry for it, and 
I was almost as eager, desiring to penetrate as 
quickly as possible into the heart of the affair. 
Already a conviction in regard to it was pressing 
upon me, and I resolved to let him talk, this time, 
as freely as he would, without interruption or 
denial. 

When we clambered up on Spy Rock, he was 
more subdued and reserved than he had been the 
first time. For a while he talked little, but scanned 
the view with wide, shining eyes. Then he began 
117 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
to tell me stories of the places that we could see — - 
strange stories of domestic calamity, and social 
conflict, and eccentric passion, and hidden crime. 

“Do you remember Hawthorne’s story of ‘The 
Minister’s Black Veil?’ It is the best comment on 
human life that ever was written. Everyone has 
something to hide. The surface of life is a mask. 
The substance of life is a secret. All humanity 
wears the black veil. But it is not impenetrable. No, 
it is transparent, if you find the right point of 
view. Here, on Spy Rock, I have found it. I have 
learned how to look through the veil. I can see, 
not by the light-rays only, but by the rays which 
are colourless, imperceptible, irresistible — the rays 
of the unknown quantity, which penetrate every- 
where. I can see how men down in the great city 
are weaving their nets of selfishness and falsehood, 
and calling them industrial enterprises or political 
combinations. I can see how the wheels of society 
are moved by the hidden springs of avarice and 
greed and rivalry. I can see how children drink 
in the fables of religion, without understanding 
them, and how prudent men repeat them without 
118 


SPY ROCK 

believing them. I can see how the illusions of love 
appear and vanish, and how men and women swear 
that their dreams are eternal, even while they fade. 
I can see how poor people blind themselves and 
deceive each other, calling selfishness devotion, and 
bondage contentment. Down at Hilltop yonder I 
can see how Dorothy Ward and John Graham, 
without knowing it, without meaning it ” 

“Stop, man !” I cried. “Stop, before you say 
what can never be unsaid. You know it is not true. 
These are nightmare visions that ride you. Not 
from Spy Rock nor from anywhere else can you 
see anything at Hilltop that is not honest and 
pure and loyal. Come down, now, and let us go 
home. You will see better there than here.” 

“I think not,” said he, “but I will come. Yes, of 
course, I am bound to come. But let me have a few 
minutes here alone. Go you down along the path 
a little way slowly. I will follow you in a quarter 
of an hour. And remember we are to be here to- 
gether once more!” 

Once more! Yes, and then what must be done? 
119 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
How was this strange case to be dealt with so as 
to save all the actors, as far as possible, from need- 
less suffering? That Keene’s mind was disordered 
at least three of us suspected already. But to me 
alone was the nature and seat of the disorder 
known. How make the others understand it? They 
might easily conceive it to be something different 
from the fact, some actual lesion of the brain, an 
incurable insanity. But this it was not. As yet, at 
least, he was no patient for a mad-house: it would 
be unjust, probably it would be impossible to have 
him committed. But on the other hand they might 
take it too lightly, as the result of overwork, or 
perhaps of the use of some narcotic. To me it 
was certain that the trouble went far deeper than 
this. It lay in the man’s moral nature, in the error 
of his central will. It was the working out, in ab- 
normal form, but with essential truth, of his 
chosen and cherished ideal of life. Spy Rock was 
something more than the seat of his delusion. It 
was the expression of his temperament. The soli- 
tary trail that led thither was the symbol of his 
search for happiness — alone, forgetful of life’s 
120 


SPY ROCK 


lowlier ties, looking down upon the world in the 
cold abstraction of scornful knowledge. How was 
such a man to be brought back to the real life whose 
first condition is the acceptance of a limited out- 
look, the willingness to live bj trust as much as 
by sight, the power of finding joy and peace in 
the things that we feel are the best, even though 
we cannot prove them nor explain them.? How 
could he ever bring anything but discord and sor- 
row to those who were bound to him.? ^ ^ 

This was what perplexed and oppressed me. I 
needed all the time until the next Saturday to think 
the question through, to decide what should be 
done. But the matter was taken out of my hands. 
After our latest expedition Keene’s dark mood re- 
turned upon him with sombre intensity. Dull, rest- 
less, indifferent, half-contemptuous, he seemed to 
withdraw into himself, observing those around him 
with half-veiled glances, as if he had nothing better 
to do and yet found it a tiresome pastime. He was 
like a man waiting wearily at a railway station 
for his train. Nothing pleased him. He responded 
to nothing. 


121 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


Graham controlled his indignation by a constant 
effort. A dozen times he was on the point of speak- 
ing out. But he restrained himself and played fair. 
Dorothy’s suffering could not be hidden. Her 
lo3^alty was strained to the breaking point. She was 
too tender and true for anger, but she was wounded 
almost beyond endurance. 

Keene’s restlessness increased. The intervening 
Thursday was Thanksgiving Day; most of the 
boys had gone home ; the school had holiday. Early 
in the morning he came to me. 

“Let us take our walk to-day. We have no work 
to do. Come! In this clear, frosty air. Spy Rock 
will be glorious!” 

“No,” I answered, “tins is no day for such an 
expedition. This is the home day. Stay here and be 
happy with us all. You owe this to love and friend- 
ship. You owe it to Dorothy Ward.” 

“Owe it.'^” said he. “Speaking of debts, I think 
each man is his own preferred creditor. But of 
course you can do as you like about to-day. To- 
morrow or Saturday will answer just as well for 
our third walk together.” 


122 


SPY ROCK 

About noon he came down from his room and 
went to the piano, where Dorothy was sitting. They 
talked together in low tones. Then she stood up, 
with pale face and wide-open eyes. She laid her 
hand on his arm. 

“Do not go, Edward. For the last time I beg 
you to stay with us to-day.” 

He lifted her hand and held it for an instant. 
Then he bowed, and let it fall. 

“You will excuse me, Dorothy, I am sure. I feel 
the need of exercise. Absolutely I must go; good- 
by — until the evening.” 

The hours of that day passed heavily for all of 
us. There was a sense of disaster in the air. Some- 
thing irretrievable had fallen from our circle. But 
no one dared to name it. Night closed in upon the 
house with a changing sky. All the stars were hid- 
den. The wind whimpered and then shouted. The 
rain swept down in spiteful volleys, deepening at 
last into a fierce, steady discharge. Nine o’clock, 
ten o’clock passed, and Keene did not return. By 
midnight we were certain that some accident had 
befallen him. 


123 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


It was impossible to go up into the mountains 
in that pitch-darkness of furious tempest. But we 
could send down to the village for men to organise 
a search-party and to bring the doctor. At day- 
break we set out — some of the men going with the 
Master along Black Brook, others in different 
directions to make sure of a complete search — 
Graham and the doctor and I following the secret 
trail that I knew only too well. Dorothy insisted 
that she must go. She would hear no denial, declar- 
ing that it would be worse for her alone at home, 
than if we took her with us. 

It was incredible how the path seemed to 
lengthen. Graham watched the girl’s every step, 
helping her over the difficult places, pushing aside 
the tangled branches, his eyes resting upon her 
as frankly, as tenderly as a mother looks at her 
child. In single file we marched through the gray 
morning, clearing cold after the storm, and the 
silence was seldom broken, for we had little heart 
to talk. 

At last we came to the high, lonely ridge, the 
dwarf forest, the huge, couchant bulk of Spy 
12 i 


SPY ROCK 


Rock. There, on the back of it, with his right arm 
hanging over the edge, was the outline of Edward 
Keene’s form. It was as if some monster had seized 
him and flung him over its shoulder to carry 
away. 

We called to him but there was no answer. The 
doctor climbed up with me, and we hurried to the 
spot where he was lying. His face was turned to 
the sky, his eyes blindly staring; there was no 
pulse, no breath ; he was already cold in death. His 
right hand and arm, the side of his neck and face 
were horribly swollen and livid. The doctor stooped 
down and examined the hand carefully. “See!” he 
cried, pointing to a great bruise on his wrist, with 
two tiny punctures in the middle of it from which 
a few drops of blood had oozed, “a rattlesnake has 
struck him. He must have fairly put his hand upon 
it, perhaps in the dark, when he was climbing. And 
look, what is this?” 

He picked up a flat silver box, that lay open on 
the rock. There were two olive-green pellets of a 
resinous paste in it. He lifted it to his face, and 
drew a long breath. 


125 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

“Yes,” he said, “it is Gun j ah, the most powerful 
form of Hashish, the narcotic hemp of India. Poor 
fellow, it saved him from frightful agony. He died 
in a dream.” 

“You are right,” I said, “in a dream, and for a 
dream.” 

We covered his face and climbed down the rock. 
Dorothy and Graham were waiting below. He had 
put his coat around her. She was shivering a little. 
There were tear-marks on her face. 

“Well,” I said, “you must know it. We have los^‘ 
him.” 

“Ah !” said the girl, “I lost him long ago.” 


WOOD-MAGIC 






















WOOD-MAGIC 


There are three vines that belong to the an* 
cient forest. Elsewhere they will not grow, though 
the soil prepared for them be never so rich, the 
shade of the arbour built for them never so closely 
and cunningly woven. Their delicate, thread-like 
roots take no hold upon the earth tilled and 
troubled by the fingers of man. The fine sap that 
steals through their long, slender limbs pauses and 
fails when they are watered by human hands. Si- 
lently the secret of their life retreats and shrinks 
away and hides itself. 

But in the woods, where falling leaves and 
crumbling tree-trunks and wilting ferns have been 
moulded by Nature into a deep, brown humus, 
clean and fragrant — in the woods, where the sun- 
light filters green and golden through interlacing 
branches, and where pure moisture of distilling 
rains and melting snows is held in treasury by 
never-failing banks of moss — under the verdurous 
flood of the forest, like sea-weeds under the ocean- 
129 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
waves, these three little creeping vines put forth 
^:heir hands with joy, and spread over rock and 
hillock and twisted tree-root and mouldering log, 
in cloaks and scarves and wreaths of tiny ever- 
green, glossy leaves. 

One of them is adorned with white pearls 
sprinkled lightly over its robe of green. This is 
Snowberry, and if you eat of it, you will grow 
wise in the wisdom of flowers. You will know where 
to find the yellow violet, and the w^ake-robin, and 
the pink lady-slipper, and the scarlet sage, and 
the fringed gentian. You wdll understand how the 
buds trust themselves to the spring in their unfold- 
ing, and how the blossoms trust themselves to the 
winter in their withering, and how the busy hands 
of Nature are ever weaving the beautiful garment 
of life out of the strands of death, and nothing is 
lost that yields itself to her quiet handling. 

Another of the vines of the forest is called Par- 
tridge-berry. Rubies are hidden among its foliage, 
and if you eat of this fruit, you will grow wise in 
the wisdom of birds. You will know where the 
oven-bird secretes her nest, and where the wood- 


1.^0 


WOOD-MAGIC 


cock dances in the air at night ; the drumming-log 
of the ruffed grouse will be easy to find, and you 
will see the dark lodges of the evergreen thickets 
inhabited by hundreds of warblers. There will be 
no dead silence for you in the forest, any longer, 
but you will hear sweet and delicate voices on 
every side, voices that you know and love ; you will 
catch the key-note of the silver flute of the wood- 
thrush, and the silver harp of the veery, and the 
silver bells of the hermit; and something in your 
heart will answer to them all. In the frosty stillness 
of October nights you will see the airy tribes flit- 
ting across the moon, following the secret call that 
guides them southward. In the calm brightness 
of winter sunshine, filling sheltered copses with 
warmth and cheer, you will watch the lingering 
blue-birds and robins and song-sparrows play- 
ing at summer, while the chick-a-dees and the 
j uncos and the cross-bills make merry in the wind- 
swept fields. In the lucent moimings of April you 
will hear your old friends coming home to you, 
Phoebe, and Oriole, and Yellow-Throat, and Red- 
Wing, and Tanager, and Cat-Bird. When they call 
131 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
to you and greet you, you will understand that 
Nature knows a secret for which man has never 
found a word — the secret that tells itself in song. 

The third of the forest-vines is Wood-Magic. 
It bears neither flower nor fruit. Its leaves are 
hardly to be distinguished from the leaves of the 
other vines. Perhaps they are a little rounder than 
the Snowberry’s, a little more pointed than the 
Partridge-berry’s; sometimes you might mistake 
them for the one, sometimes for the other. No 
marks of warning have been written upon them. 
If you find them it is your fortune; if you taste 
them it is your fate. 

For as you browse your way through the forest, 
nipping here and there a rosy leaf of young win- 
ter-green, a fragrant emerald tip of balsam-fir, a 
twig of spicy birch, if by chance you pluck the 
leaves of Wood-Magic and eat them, you will not 
know what you have done, but the enchantment of 
the tree-land will enter your heart and the charm 
of the wildwood will flow through your veins. 

You will never get away from it. The sighing of 
the wind through the pine-trees and the laughter 
132 


WOOD - MAGIC 

of the stream in its rapids will sound through all 
your dreams. On beds of silken softness you will 
long for the sleep-song of whispering leaves above 
your head, and the smell of a couch of balsam- 
boughs. At tables spread with daint}^ fare you will 
be hungry for the joy of the hunt, and for the 
angler’s sylvan feast. In proud cities you will 
weary for the sight of a mountain trail ; in great 
cathedrals you will think of the long, arching aisles 
of the woodland; and in the noisy solitude of 
crowded streets you will hone after the friendly 
forest. 

This is what will happen to you if you eat the 
leaves of that little vine, Wood-Magic. And this is 
what happened to Luke Dubois. 

I 

The Cabin by the Rivers 

Two highways meet before the door, and a third 
reaches away to the southward, broad and smooth 
and white. But there are no travellers passing by. 
The snow that has fallen during the night is 
133 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
unbroken. The pale February sunrise makes blue 
shadows on it, sharp and jagged, an outhne of the 
fir-trees on the mountain-crest quarter of a mile 
away. 

In summer the highways are dissolved into three 
wild rivers — the River of Rocks, which issues from 
the hills; the River of Meadows, which flows from 
the great lake; and the River of the Way Out, 
which runs down from their meeting-place to the 
settlements and the little world. But in winter, when 
the ice is firm under the snow, and the going is fine, 
there are no tracks upon the three broad roads ex- 
cept the paths of the caribou, and the footprints 
of the marten and the mink and the fox, and the 
narrow trails made by Luke Dubois on his way to 
and from his cabin by the rivers. 

He leaned in the door-way, looking out. Behind 
him in the shadow, the fire was still snapping 
in the little stove where he had cooked his break- 
fast. There was a comforting smell of bacon and 
venison in the room ; the tea-pot stood on the table 
half-empty. Here in the corner were his rifle and 
some of his traps. On the wall hung his snowshoes. 

134 . 


WOOD - MAGIC 

Under the bunk was a pile of skins. Half-open on 
the bench lay the book that he had been reading 
the evening before, while the snow was falling. It 
was a book of veritable fairy-tales, which told how 
men had made their way in the world, and 
achieved great fortunes, and won success, by 
toiling hard at first, and then by trading and bar- 
gaining and getting ahead of other men. 

“Well,” said Luke, to himself, as he stood at the 
door, “I could do that too. Without doubt I 
also am one of the men who can do things. They 
did not work any harder than I do. But they got 
better pay. I am twenty-five. For ten years I have 
worked hard, and what have I got for it? This!” 

He stepped out into the morning, alert and vig- 
orous, deep-chested and straight-hipped. The 
strength of the hills had gone into him, and his 
eyes were bright with health. His kingdom was 
spread before him. There along the River of 
Meadows were the haunts of the moose and the 
caribou where he hunted in the fall; and yonder 
on the burnt hills around the great lake were the 
places where he watched for the bears; and up 
13.5 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
beside the River of Rocks ran his line of traps, 
swinging back by secret ways to many a nameless 
pond and hidden beaver-meadow ; and all along the 
streams, when the ice went out in the spring, the 
great trout would be leaping in rapid and pool. 
Among the peaks and vallej^s of that forest-clad 
kingdom he could find his way as easily as a mer- 
chant walks from his house to his office. The secrets 
of bird and beast were known to him ; every season 
of the year brought him its own tribute ; the woods 
were his domain, vast, inexhaustible, free. 

Here was his home, his cabin that he had built 
with his own hands. The roof was tight, the walls 
were well chinked with moss. It was snug and 
warm. But small — how pitifully small it looked 
to-day — and how lonely ! 

His hand-sledge stood beside the door, and 
against it leaned the axe. He caught it up and 
began to split wood for the stove. “No!” he cried, 
throwing down the axe, “I’m tired of this. It has 
lasted long enough. I’m going out to make my way 
in the world.” 

A couple of hours later, the sledge was packed 
1S6 


WOOD - MAGIC 

with camp-gear and bundles of skins. The door of 
the cabin was shut; a ghostlike wreath of blue 
smoke curled from the chimney. Luke stood, in his 
snowshoes, on the white surface of the River of the 
Way Out. He turned to look back for a moment, 
and waved his hand. 

“Good-bye, old cabin! Good-bye, the rivers! 
Good-bye, the woods !” 


n 

The House on the Main Street 

All the good houses in Scroll-Saw City were dif- 
ferent, in the number and shape of the curious pin- 
nacles that rose from their roofs and in the trim- 
mings of their verandas. Yet they were all alike, 
too, in their general expression of putting their 
best foot foremost and feeling quite sure that they 
made a brave show. They had lace curtains in their 
front parlour windows, and outside of the curtains 
were large red and yellow pots of artificial flowers 
and indestructible palms and vulcanised rubber' 
plants. It was a gay sight. 

1S7 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


But by far the bravest of these houses was the 
residence of Mr. Matthew Wilson, the principal 
merchant of Scroll-Saw City. It stood on a corner 
of Main Street, glancing slyly out of the tail of 
one eye, side-ways down the street, toward the shop 
and the business, but keeping a bold, complacent 
front toward the street-cars and the smaller houses 
across the way. It might well be satisfied with 
itself, for it had three more pinnacles than any of 
its neighbours, and the work of the scroll-saw was 
looped and festooned all around the eaves and por- 
ticoes and bay-windows in amazing richness. More- 
over, in the front yard were cast-iron images 
painted white : a stag reposing on a door-mat ; 
Diana properly dressed and returning from the 
chase; a small iron boy holding over his head a 
parasol from the ferrule of which a fountain 
squirted. The paths were of asphalt, gray and 
gritty in winter, but now, in the summer heat, 
black and pulpy to the tread. 

There were many feet passing over them this 
afternoon, for Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Wilson were 
giving a reception to celebrate the official entrance 
138 



“ Good-bye, old cabin ! Good-bye, the rivers ! Good-bye, the woods ! ” 








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WOOD - MAGIC 

of their daughter Amanda into a social life which 
she had permeated unofficially for several years. 
The house was sizzling full of people. Those who 
were jammed in the parlour tried to get into the 
dining-room, and those who were packed in the din- 
ing-room struggled to escape, holding plates of 
stratified cake and liquefied ice-cream high above 
their neighbours’ heads like signals of danger and 
distress. Everybody was talking at the same time, 
in a loud, shrill voice, and nobody listened to what 
anybody else was saying. But it did not matter, for 
'^hey all said the same things. 

“Elegant house for a party, so full of — ” “How 
perfectly lovely Amanda Wilson looks in that — ” 
“Awfully warm day ! Were you at the Tompkins’ 
last — ” “Wilson’s Emporium must be doing good 
business to keep up all this — ” “Hear he’s going to 
enlarge the store and take Luke Woods into the — ” 
“Shouldn’t wonder if there might be a wedding 
here before next — ” 

The tide of chatter rose and swelled and ebbed 
and suddenly sank away. At six o’clock, the minis- 
ter and two maiden ladies in black silk with lilac 
139 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
ribbons, laid down their last plates of ice-cream 
and said they thought they must be going. Aman- 
da and her mother preened their dresses and patted 
their hair. “ Come into the study,” said Mr. Wil- 
son to Luke. ‘‘I want to have a talk with you.” 

The little bookless room, called the study, was 
the one that kept its eye on the shop and the busi- 
ness, away down the street. You could see the brick 
front, and the plate-glass windows, and part of the 
gilt sign. 

“Pretty good store,” said Mr. Wilson, jingling 
the keys in his pocket, “does the biggest trade in 
the county, biggest but one in the whole state, I 
guess. And I must say, Luke Woods, you’ve done 
your share, these last five years, in building it up. 
Never had a clerk work so hard and so steady. 
You’ve got good business sense, I guess.” 

“Pm glad you think so,” said Luke. “I did as 
well as I could.” 

“Yes,” said the elder man, “and now I’m about 
ready to take you in with me, give you a share in 
the business. I want some one to help me run it, 
make it larger. We can double it, easy, if we stick 
140 


WOOD - MAGIC 

to it and spread out. No reason why you shouldn’t 
make a fortune out of it, and have a house just like 
this on the other corner, when you’re my age.” 

Luke’s thoughts were wandering a little. They 
went out from the stuffy room, beyond the dusty 
street, and the jangling cars, and the gilt sign, and 
the shop full of dry-goods and notions, and the 
high desks in the office — out to the dim, cool forest, 
where Snowberry and Partridge-berry and Wood- 
Magic grow. He heard the free winds rushing over 
the tree-tops, and saw the trail winding away 
before him in the green shade. 

“You are very kind,” said he, “I hope you will 
not be disappointed in me. Sometimes I think, per^ 
haps — ” 

“Not at all, not at all,” said the other. “It’s all 
right. You’re well fitted for it. And then, there’s 
another thing. I guess you like my daughter 
Amanda pretty well. lElh? I’ve watched you, young 
man. I’ve had my eye on you! Now, of course, I 
can’t say much about it — never can be sure of these 
kind of things, you know — but if you and she — ” 

The voice went on rolling out words compla- 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


centij. But something strange was working in 
Luke’s blood, and other voices were sounding faint- 
ly in his ears. He heard the lisping of the leaves 
on the little poplar-trees, the whistle of the black 
duck’s wings as he circled in the air, the distant 
drumming of the grouse on his log, the rumble of 
the water-fall in the River of Rocks. The spray 
cooled his face. He saw the fish rising along the 
pool, and a stag feeding among the lily-pads. 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Wilson,” 
said he at last, when the elder man stopped talking. 
‘‘You have certainly treated me most generously. 
The only question is, whether — But to-morrow 
night, I think, with your consent, I will speak to 
your daughter. To-night I am going down to the 
store; there is a good deal of work to do on the 
books.” 

But when Luke came to the store, he did not go 
in. He walked along the street till he came to the 
river. 

The water-side was strangely deserted. Every- 
body was at supper. A couple of schooners were 
moored at the wharf. The Portland steamer had 
U2 


W O O D - M A G 1 C 

gone out. The row-boats hung idle at their lit- 
tle dock. Down the river, drifting and dancing 
lightly over the opalescent ripples, following the 
gentle turns of the current which flowed past the 
end of the dock where Luke was standing, came a 
white canoe, empty and astray. 


Ill 

The White Canoe 

“That looks just like my old canoe,” said he. 
“Somebody must have left it adrift up the river. 
I wonder how it floated down here without being 
picked up.” He put out his hand and caught it, as 
it touched the dock. 

In the stern a good paddle of maple-wood w^as 
lying; in the middle there was a roll of blankets 
and a pack of camp-stufl* ; in the bow a rifle. 

“All ready for a trip,” he laughed. “Nobody 
going but me.? Well, then, au large!*' And step- 
ping into the canoe he pushed out on the river. 

The saffron and golden lights in the sky diffused 
themselves over the surface of the water, and 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


spread from the bow of the canoe in deeper waves 
of purple and orange, as he paddled swiftly up 
stream. The pale yellow gas-lamps of the town 
faded behind him. The lumber-yards and factories 
and disconsolate little houses of the outskirts 
seemed to melt away. In a little while he was float- 
ing between dark walls of forest, through the 
heart of the wilderness. 

The night deepened around him and the sky 
hung out its thousand lamps. Odours of the woods 
floated on the air: the spicy fragrance of the firs; 
the breath of hidden banks of twin-flower. Musk- 
rats swam noiselessly in the shadows, diving with a 
great commotion as the canoe ran upon them sud- 
denly. A horned owl hooted from the branch of a 
dead pine-tree ; far back in the forest a fox 
barked twice. The moon crept up behind the wall 
of trees and touched the stream with silver. 

Presently the forest receded: the banks of the 
river grew broad and open; the dew glistened on 
the tall grass ; it was surely the River of Meadows. 
Far ahead of him in a bend of the stream, Luke’s 
ear caught a new sound: slosh^ sloshi slosh, as if 
144 


WOOD - MAGIC 

some heavy animal were crossing the wet meadow. 
Then a great splash! Luke swung the canoe into 
the shadow of the bank and paddled fast. As he 
turned the point a black bear came out of the river, 
and stood on the shore, shaking the water around 
him in glittering spray. Ping! said the rifle, and 
the bear fell. ‘Trood luck!” said Luke. “I haven’t 
forgotten how, after all. I’ll take him into the 
canoe, and dress him up at the camp.” 

Yes, there was the little cabin at the meeting of 
the rivers. The door was padlocked, but Luke knew 
how to pry off one of the staples. Squirrels had 
made a litter on the floor, but that was soon swept 
out, and a fire crackled in the stove. There was tea 
and ham and bread in the pack in the canoe. Sup- 
per never tasted better. “One more night in the old 
camp,” said Luke as he rolled himself in the 
blanket and dropped asleep in a moment. 

The sun shone in at the door and woke him. “I 
must have a trout for breakfast,” he cried, “there’s 
one waiting for me at the mouth of Alder Brook, I 
suppose.” So he caught up his rod from behind the 
door, and got into the canoe and paddled up the 
145 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
River of Rocks. There was the broad, dark pool, 
like a little lake, with a rapid running in at the 
head, and close beside the rapid, the mouth of the 
brook. He sent his fly out by the edge of the alders. 
There was a huge swirl on the water, and the 
great-grandfather of all the trout in the river was 
hooked. Up and down the pool he played for half 
an hour, until at last the fight was over, and for 
want of a net Luke beached him on the gravel bank 
at the foot of the pool. 

“Seven pounds if it’s an ounce,” said he. “This 
is my lucky day. Now all I need is some good meat 
to provision the camp.” 

He glanced down the river, and on the second 
point below the pool he saw a great black bull- 
moose with horns five feet wide. 

Quietly, swiftly, the canoe went gliding down 
the stream; and ever as it crept along, the moose 
loped easily before it, from point to point, from 
bay to bay, past the little cabin, down the River of 
the Way Out, now rustling unseen through a bank 
of tall alders, now standing out for a moment bold 
and black on a beach of white sand — so all day 
146 


W O O D - M A G I C 

long the moose loped down the stream and the 
white canoe followed. Just as the setting sun was 
poised above the trees, the great bull stopped and 
stood with head lifted. Luke pushed the canoe as 
near as he dared, and looked down for the rifle. He 
had left it at the cabin ! The moose tossed his huge 
antlers, grunted, and stepped quietly over the 
bushes into the forest. 

Luke paddled on down the stream. It occurred 
to him, suddenly, that it was near evening. He won- 
dered a little how he should reach home in time for 
his engagement. But it did not seem strange, as he 
went swiftly on with the river, to see the first houses 
of the town, and the lumber-yards, and the schoon- 
ers at the wharf. 

He made the canoe fast at the dock, and went up 
the Main Street. There was the old shop, but the 
sign over it read, “Wilson and Woods Company, 
The Big Store.” He went on to the house with the 
white iron images in the front yard. Diana was still 
returning from the chase. The fountain still 
squirted from the point of the little boy’s parasol. 

On the veranda sat a stout man in a rocking 
147 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


chair, reading the newspaper. At the side of the 
house two little girls with pig-tails were playing 
croquet. Some one in the parlour was executing 
“After the Ball is Over” on a mechanical piano. 

Luke accosted a stranger who passed him. “Ex- 
cuse me, but can you tell me whether this is Mr. 
Matthew Wilson’s house?” 

“It used to be,” said the stranger, “but old man 
Wilson has been dead these ten years.” 

“And who lives here now?” asked Luke. 

“Mr. Woods: he married Wilson’s daughter,” 
said the stranger, and went on his way. 

“Well,” said Luke to himself, “this is just a lit- 
tle queer. Woods was my name for a while, when 
I lived here, but now, I suppose, I’m Luke Dubois 
again. Dashed if I can understand it. Somebody 
must have been dreaming.” 

So he went back to the white canoe, and paddled 
away up the river, and nobody in Scroll-Saw City 
ever set eyes on him again. 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 


I 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

You know the story of the Three Wise Men of 
the East, and how they travelled from far away 
to offer their gifts at the manger-cradle in Beth- 
lehem. But have you ever heard the story of the 
Other Wise Man, who also saw the star in its 
rising, and set out to follow it, yet did not arrive 
with his brethren in the presence of the young 
child Jesus.? Of the great desire of this fourth pil- 
grim, and how it was denied, yet accomplished in 
the denial ; of his many wanderings and the pro- 
bations of his soul ; of the long way of his seek- 
ing and the strange way of his finding the One 
whom he sought— I would tell the tale as I have 
heard fragments of it in the Hall of Dreams, in the 
palace of the Heart of Man. 

I 

In the days when Augustus Cassar was master 
of many kings and Herod reigned in Jerusalem, 
there lived in the city of Ecbatana, among the 

Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
mountains of Persia, a certain man named Arta- 
ban. ^ His house stood close to the outermost of the 
walls which encircled the royal treasury. From his 
roof he could look over the seven-fold battlements 
of black and white and crimson and blue and red 
and silver and gold, to the hill where the summer 
palace of the Parthian emperors glittered like a 
jewel in a crown. 

Around the dwelling of Artaban spread a fair 
garden, a tangle of flowers and fruit-trees, wa- 
tered by a score of streams descending from the 
slopes of Mount Orontes, and made musical by 
innumerable birds. But all colour was lost in the 
soft and odorous darkness of the late September 
night, and all sounds were hushed in the deep 
charm of its silence, save the plashing of the wa- 
ter, like a voice half-sobbing and half-laughing 
under the shadows. High above the trees a dim 
glow of light shone through the curtained arches 
of the upper chamber, where the master of the 
house was holding council with his friends. 

He stood by the doorway to greet his guests 
—a tall, dark man of about forty years, with 


152 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
brilliant eyes set near together under his broad 
brow, and firm lines graven around his fine, thin 
lips; the brow of a dreamer and the mouth of a 
soldiery a man of sensitive feeling but inflexible 
will — one of those who, in whatever age they may 
live, are born for inward conflict and a life of 
quest. 

His robe was of pure white wool, thrown over 
a tunic of silk; and a white, pointed cap, with 
long lapels at the sides, rested on his flowing black 
hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood 
of the Magi, called the fire-worshippers. 

' “Welcome!” he said, in his low, pleasant voice, 
as one after another entered the room — “welcome, 
Abdus; peace be with you, Rhodaspes and Ti- 
granes, and with you my father, Abgarus. You 
are all welcome. This house grows bright with 
the joy of your presence.” 

There were nine of the men, differing widely 
in age, but alike in the richness of their dress of 
many-coloured silks, and in the massive golden 
collars around their necks, marking them as 
Parthian nobles, and in the winged circles of gold 


153 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


resting upon their breasts, the sign of the fol- 
lowers of Zoroaster. \ 

They took their places around a small black 
altar at the end of the room, where a tiny flame 
was burning. Artaban, standing beside it, and 
waving a barsom of thin tamarisk branches above 
the fire, fed it with dry sticks of pine and fra- 
grant oils. Then he began the^ ancient chant .of 
the Yasna, and the voices of his companions 
joined in the hymn to Ahura-Mazda; 

We worship the Spirit Divine, 

all wisdom and goodness possessing, 

Surrounded hy Holy Immortals, 

the givers of bounty and blessing ; 

We joy hi the work of His hands. 

His truth and His power confessing. 

We praise all the things that are pure, 

for these are His only Creation j 

The thoughts that are true, and the words 

and the deeds that have won approbation ; 

These are supported by Him, 

and for these we make adoration. 


) 54 > 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

Hear us, 0 Mazda ! Thou livest 

hi indh and in heavenly gladness / 

Cleanse us from falsehood, and keep us 

from evil and bondage to badness ; 

Pour Old the light and the joy of Thy life 

on our darkness and sadness. 

Shine on our gardens and fields, 

shine on our working and weaving ; 

Shine on the whole race of man, 

believing and unbelieving ; 
Shine on us now through the night, 

Shine on us now in Thy might, 

The fame of our holy love 

and the song of our worship receiving. 

The fire rose with the chant, throbbing as if 
the flame responded to the music, until it cast a 
bright illumination through the whole apartment, 
revealing its simplicity and splendour. 

The floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined 
with white; pilasters of twisted silver stood out 
against the blue walls; the clear-story of round- 
arched windows above them was hung with azure 
silk; the vaulted ceiling was a pavement of blue 
155 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


stones, like the body of heaven in its clearness, 
sown with silver stars. From the four corners of 
the roof hung four golden magic-wheels, called 
the tongues of the gods. At the eastern end, be- 
hind the altar, there were two dark-red pillars of 
porphyry; above them a lintel of the same stone, 
on which was carved the figure of a winged archer, 
with his arrow set to the string and his bow drawn. 

The doorway between the pillars, which opened 
upon the terrace of the roof, was covered with a 
heavy curtain of the colour of a ripe pomegranate, 
embroidered with innumerable golden rays shoot- 
ing upward from the floor. In effect the room was 
like a quiet, starry night, all azure and silver, 
flushed in the east with rosy promise of the dawn. 
It was, as the house of a man should be, an ex- 
pression of the character and spirit of the master. 

He turned to his friends when the song was 
ended, and invited them to be seated on the divan 
at the western end of the room. 

‘‘You have come to-night,” said he, looking 
around the circle, “at my call, as the faithful 
scholars of Zoroaster, to renew your worship and 
U6 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
rekindle your faith in the God of Purity, even 
as this fire has been rekindled on the altar. We 
worship not the fire, but Him of whom it is the 
chosen symbol, because it is the purest of all 
created things. It speaks to us of one who is Light 
and Truth. Is it not so, my father.^” 

“It is well said, my son,” answered the ven- 
erable Abgarus. “The enlightened are never idol- 
aters. They lift the veil of form and go in to the 
shrine of reality, and new light and truth are com- 
ing to them continually through the old symbols.” 

“Hear me, then, my father and my friends,” 
said Artaban, “while I tell you of the new light 
and truth that have come to me through the most 
ancient of all signs. We have searched the secrets 
of Nature together, and studied the healing virt- 
ues of water and fire and the plants. We have 
read also the books of prophecy in which the fut- 
ure is dimly foretold in words that are hard to 
understand. But the highest of all learning is the 
knowledge of the stars. To trace their course is 
to untangle the threads of the mystery of life 
from the beginning to the end. If we could follow 
157 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


them perfectly, nothing would be hidden from us. 
But is not our knowledge of them still incomplete? 
Are there not many stars still beyond our horizon 
— lights that are known only to the dwellers in 
the far south-land, among the spice-trees of Punt 
and the gold mines of Ophir?” 

There was a murmur of assent among the 
listeners. 

“The stars,” said Tigranes, “are the thoughts 
of the Eternal. They are numberless. But the 
thoughts of man can be counted, like the years 
of his lif^The wisdom of the Magi is the greatest 
of all wisdoms on earth, because it knows its own 
ignorance. And that is the secret of power. We 
keep men always looking and waiting for a new 
sunrise. But we ourselves understand that the dark- 
ness is equal to the light, and that the conflict 
between them will never be ended.” 

“That does not satisfy me,” answered Arta- 
ban, “for, if the waiting must be endless, if there 
could be no fulfilment of it, then it would not be 
wisdom to look and wait. We should become like 
those new teachers of the Greeks, who say that 
158 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
there is no truth, and that the only wise men are 
those who spend their lives in discovering and ex- 
posing the lies that have been believed in the 
world. But the new sunrise will certainly appear in 
the appointed time. Do not our own books tell us 
that this will come to pass, and that men will see 
the brightness of a great light 

“That is true,” said the voice of Abgarus; 
“every faithful disciple of Zoroaster knows the 
prophecy of the A vesta, and carries the word in 
his heart. ‘In that day Sosiosh the Victorious shall 
arise out of the number of the prophets in the 
east country. Around him shall shine a mighty 
brightness, and he shall make life everlasting, in- 
corruptible, and immortal, and the dead shall rise 
again.’ ” 

“This is a dark saying,” said Tigranes, “and 
it may be that we shall never understand it. It 
is better to consider the things that are near at 
hand, and to increase the influence of the Magi 
in their own country, rather than to look for one 
who may be a stranger, and to whom we must re- 
sign our power.” 


159 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

The others seemed to approve these words. 
There was a silent feeling of agreement manifest 
among them; their looks responded with that in- 
definable expression which always follows when a 
speaker has uttered the thought that has been 
slumbering in the hearts of his listeners. But Ar- 
taban turned to Abgarus with a glow on his face^ 
and said: 

“My father, I have kept this prophecy in the 
secret place of my soul. Religion without a great 
hope would be like an altar without a living fire. 
And now the flame has burned more brightly, and 
by the light of it I have read other words which 
also have come from the fountain of Truth, and 
speak yet more clearly of the rising of the Victo- 
rious One in his brightness.” 

He drew from the breast of his tunic two small 
rolls of fine parchment, with writing upon them, 
and unfolded them carefully upon his knee. 

“In the years that are lost in the past, long be- 
fore our fathers came into the land of Babylon, 
there were wise men in Chaldea, from whom the 
first of the Magi learned the secret of the heavens. 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

And of these Balaam the son of Beor was one of 
the mightiest. Hear the words of his prophecy: 

JThere shall come a star out of Jacob, and a scep- 
tre shall arise out of Israel.’ 

The lips of Tigranes drew downward with con- 
tempt, as he said; 

“Judah was a captive by the waters of Baby- 
lon, and the sons of Jacob were in bondage to our 
kings. The tribes of Israel are scattered through 
the mountains like lost sheep, and from the rem- 
nant that dwells in Judea under the yoke of Rome 
neither star nor sceptre shall arise.” 

“And yet,” answered Artaban, “it was the 
Hebrew Daniel, the mighty searcher of dreams, 
the counsellor of kings, the wise Belteshazzar, 
who was most honoured and beloved of our great 
King Cyrus. A prophet of sure things and a 
reader of the thoughts of the Eternal, Daniel 
proved himself to our people. And these are the 
words that he wrote.” (Artaban read from the sec- 
ond roll : ) “ ‘Know, therefore, and understand that 
from the going forth of the commandment to 
restore Jerusalem, unto the Anointed One, the 
I6l 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
Prince, the time shall be seven and threescore and 
two weeks.’ ” 

“But, my son,” said Abgarus, doubtfully, 
“these are mystical numbers. Who can interpret 
them, or who can find the key that shall unlock 
their meaning.?” 

Artaban answered: “It has been shown to me 
and to my three companions among the Magi — 
Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. We have 
searched the ancient tablets of Chaldea and com- 
puted the time. It falls in this year. We have 
studied the sky, and in the spring of the year 
we saw two of the greatest planets draw near to- 
gether in the sign of the Fish, which is the house 
of the Hebrews. We also saw a new star there, 
which shone for one night and then vanished. 
Now again the two great planets are meeting. 
This night is their conjunction. My three brothers 
are watching by the ancient Temple of the Seven 
Spheres, at Borsippa, in Babylonia, and I am 
watching here, fif the star shines again, they wiU 
wait ten days for me at the temple, and then we 
will set out together for Jerusalem, to see and wor- 
lds 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
ship the promised one who shall be born King of 
Israel. I believe the sign will come. I have made 
ready for the journey. I have sold my possessions, 
and bought these three jewels — a sapphire, a 
ruby, and a pearl — ^to carry them as tribute to 
the King. And I ask you to go with me on the pil- 
grimage, that we may have joy together in finding 
the Prince who is worthy to be served.” 

While he was speaking he thrust his hand into 
the inmost fold of his girdle and drew out three 
great gems — one blue as a fragment of the night 
sky, one redder than a ray of sunrise, and one as 
pure as the peak of a snow-mountain at twilight 
— and laid them on the outspread scrolls before 
him. 

But his friends looked on with strange and alien 
eyes. A veil of doubt and mistrust came over their 
faces, like a fog creeping up from the marshes to 
hide the hills. They glanced at each other with 
looks of wonder and pity, as those who have lis- 
tened to incredible sayings, the story of a wild 
vision, or the proposal of an impossible enter- 
prise. 


163 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

At last Tigranes said: “Artaban, this is a vain 
dream. It comes from too much looking upon the 
stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts. It 
would be wiser to spend the time in gathering 
money for the new fire-temple at Chala. No king 
will ever rise from the broken race of Israel, and 
no end will ever come to the eternal strife of light 
and darkness. He who looks for it is a chaser of 
shadows. Farewell.” 

And another said: “Artaban, I have no knowl- 
edge of these things, and my office as guardian of 
the royal treasure binds me here. The quest is not 
for me. But if thou must follow it, fare thee 
well.” 

And another said: “In my house there sleeps a 
new bride, and I cannot leave her nor take her with 
me on this strange journey. This quest is not for 
me. But may thy steps be prospered wherever thou 
goest. So, farewell.” 

And another said: “I am ill and unfit for hard- 
ship, but there is a man among my servants whom 
I will send with thee when thou goest, to bring me 
word how thou farest.” 


164 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

So,^ne by one, they left the house of Artaban. 
But Abgarus, the oldest and the one who loved 
him the best, lingered after the others had gone, 
and said, gravely: “My son, it may be that the 
light of truth is in this sign that has appeared 
in the skies, and then it will surely lead to the 
Prince and the mighty brightness. Or it may be 
that it is only a shadow of the light, as Tigranes 
has said, and then he who follows it will have a 
long pilgrimage and a fruitless search. But it is 
better to follow even the shadow of the best than 
to remain content with the worst. And those who 
would see wonderful things must often be ready 
to travel alone. I am too old for this journey, but 
my heart shall be a companion of thy pilgrimage 
day and night, and I shall know the end of thy 
quest. Go in peace.” 

Then Abgarus went out of the azure chamber 
with its silver stars^ and Artaban was left in soli- 
tude. 

_He gathered up the jewels and replaced them iir 
his girdle. For a long time he stood and watched 
the flame that flickered and sank upon the altar* 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
Then he crossed the hall, lifted the heavy curtain, 
and passed out between the pillars of porphyry to 
the terrace on the roof. 

The shiver that runs through the earth ere she 
rouses from her night-sleep had already begun, 
and the cool wind that heralds the daybreak was 
drawing downward from the lofty snow-traced 
ravines of Mount Orontes. Birds, half-awakened, 
crept and chirped among the rustling leaves, and 
the smell of ripened grapes came in brief wafts 
from the arbours. 

Far over the eastern plain a white mist stretched 
like a lake. But where the distant peaks of Zagros 
serrated the western horizon the sk}^ was clear. 
Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of 
lambent flame about to blend in one. 

As Artaban watched them, a steel-blue spark 
was born out of the darkness beneath, rounding 
itself with purple splendours to a crimson sphere, 
and spiring upward through rays of saffron and 
orange into a point of white radiance. Tiny 
and infinitely remote, yet perfect in every part, 
it pulsated in the enormous vault as if the 
166 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
three jewels in the Magian’s girdle had mingled 
and been transformed into a living heart of 
light. 

He bowed his head. He covered his brow with 
his hands. 

“It is the sign,” he said. “The King is coming, 
and I will go to meet him.” 


n 

All night long, Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban’s 
horses, had been waiting, saddled and bridled, in 
her stall, pawing the ground impatiently, and 
shaking her bit as if she shared the eagerness of 
her master’s purpose, though she knew not its 
meaning. — ^ 

Before the birds had fully roused to their 
strong, high, joyful chant of morning song, 
before the white mist had begun to lift lazily 
from tlie plain, the Other Wise Man was in the 
saddle, riding swiftly along the high-road, 
which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, west- 
ward. 

tm 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

How close, how intimate is the comradeship be- 
tween a man and his favourite horse on a long 
journey. It is a silent, comprehensive friendship, 
an intercourse beyond the need of words. 

They drink at the same way-side springs, and 
sleep under the same guardian stars. They are 
conscious together of the subduing spell of night- 
fall and the quickening joy of daybreak. The 
master shares his evening meal with his hungry 
companion, and feels the soft, moist lips caress- 
ing the palm of his hand as they close over the 
morsel of bread. In the gray dawn he is roused 
from his bivouac by the gentle stir of a warm, 
sweet breath over his sleeping face, and looks up 
into the eyes of his faithful fellow-traveller, ready 
and waiting for the toil of the day. Surely, un- 
less he is a pagan and an unbeliever, by whatever 
name he calls upon his God, he will thank Him 
for this voiceless sympathy, this dumb affection, 
and his morning prayer will embrace a double 
blessing — God bless us both, the horse and the 
rider, and keep our feet from falling and our souls 
from death! 


168 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 


Then, through the keen morning air, the swift 
hoofs beat their tattoo along the road. Keeping 
time to the pulsing of two hearts that are moved 
with the same eager desire — to conquer space, to 
devour the distance, to attain the goal of the 
journey. 

/ Artaban must indeed ride wisely and well if he 
would keep the appointed hour with the other 
Magijjfor the route was a hundred and fifty para- 
sangs, and fifteen was the utmost that he could 
travel in a day. But he knew Vasda’s strength, 
and pushed forward without anxiety, making the 
fixed distance every day, though he must travel 
late into the night, and in the morning long before 
sunrise. 

/ He passed along the brown slopes of Mount 
Orontes, furrowed by the rbcky courses of a hun- 
dred torrents. 

crossed the level plains of the Nisaeans, 
where the famous herds of horses, feeding in the 
wide pastures, tossed their heads , at Vasda’s ap- 
proach, fa^ galloped away with a thunder of 
many hoofs, and flocks of wild birds rose suddenly 
169 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
from the swampy meadows, wheeling in great cir- 
cles with a shining flutter of innumerable wings 
and shrill cries of surprise. 

He traversed the fertile fields of Concabar, 
where the dust from the threshing-floors filled the 
air with a golden mist, half hiding the huge tem- 
ple of Astarte with its four hundred pillars. 

At Baghistan, among the rich gardens watered 
by fountains from the rock, he looked up at the 
mountain thrusting its immense rugged brow out 
over the road, and saw the figure of King Darius 
trampling upon his fallen foes, and the proud list 
of his 'wars and conquests graven high upon the 
face of the eternal cliff. 

Over many a cold and desolate pass, crawling 
painfully across the wind-swept shoulders of the 
hills; down many a black mountain-gorge, where 
the river roared and raced before him like a sav- 
age guide; across many a smiling vale, with ter- 
races of yellow limestone full of vines and fruit- 
trees; through the oak-groves of Carine and the 
dark Gates of Zagros, walled in by precipices; 
into the ancient city of Chala, where the people of 
170 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
Samaria had been kept in captivity long ago; and 
out again by the mighty portal, riven through 
the encircling hills, where he saw the image of the 
High Priest of the Magi sculptured on the wall 
of rock, with hand uplifted as if to bless the cen- 
turies of pilgrims; past the entrance of the nar- 
row defile, filled from end to end with orchards 
of peaches and figs, through which the river 
Gyndes foamed down to meet him; over the broad 
rice-fields, where the autumnal vapours spread 
their deathly mists ; following along the course of 
the river, under tremulous shadows of poplar and 
tamarind, among the lower lulls; and out upon 
the flat plain, where the road ran straight as an 
arrow through the stubble-fields and parched 
meadows; past the city of Ctesiphon, where the 
Parthian emperors reigned, and the vast metrop- 
olis of Seleucia which Alexander built ; across 
the swirling floods of Tigris and the many chan- 
nels of Euphrates, flowing yellow through the 
corn-lands — Artaban pressed onward until he ar- 
rived, at nightfall on the tenth day, beneath the 
shattered walls of populous Babylon. 

171 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
Vasda was almost spent, and Artaban would 
gladly have turned into the city to find rest and 
refreshment for himself and for her. But he knew 
that it was three hours’ journey yet to the Tem- 
ple of the Seven Spheres, and he must reach the 
place by midnight if he would find his comrades 
waiting. So he did not halt, but rode steadily 
across the stubble-fields. 

A grove of date-palms made an island of gloom 
in the pale yellow sea. As she passed into the 
shadow Vasda slackened her pace, and began to 
pick her way more carefully. 

Near the farther end of the darkness an access 
of caution seemed to fall upon her. She scented 
some danger or difficulty; it was not in her heart 
to fly from it — only to be prepared for it, and to 
meet it wisely, as a good horse should do. The 
grove was close and silent as the tomb ; not a leaf 
rustled, not a bird sang. 

She felt her steps before her delicately, carry- 
ing her head low, and sighing now and then with 
apprehension. At last she gave a quick breath of 
anxiety and dismay, and stood stock-still, quiver- 
172 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 


iiig in every muscle, before a dark object in the 
shadow of the last palm-tree.^ 

Artaban dismounted. The dim starlight re- 
vealed the form of a man lying across the road. 
His humble dress and the outline of his haggard 
face showed that he was probably one of the He- 
brews who still dwelt in great numbers around the 
city. His pallid skin, dry and yellow as parch- 
ment, bore the mark of the deadly fever which 
ravaged the marsh-lands in autumn. The chill of 
death was in his lean hand, and, as Artaban re- 
leased it, the arm fell back inertly upon the mo- 
tionless breast. 

He turned away with a thought of pity, leav- 
ing the body to that strange burial which the 
Magians deemed most fitting — the funeral of the 
desert, from which the kites and vultures rise on 
dark wings, and the beasts of prey slink furtively 
away. When they are gone there is only a heap 
of white bones on the sand. 

But,(^s he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh 
came from the man’s lips. The bony fingers gripped 
the hem of the Magian’s robe and held him fast. 

173 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

Artaban’s heart leaped to his throat, not with 
fear, but with a dumb resentment at the impor- 
tunity of this blind delay. 

How could he stay here in the darkness to min- 
ister to a dying stranger? What claim had this 
unknown fragment of human life upon his com- 
passion or his service? If he lingered but for an 
hour he could hardly reach Borsippa at the ap- 
pointed time. His companions would think he had 
given up the journey. They would go without 
him. He would lose his quest. 

But if he went on now, the man would surely 
die. If Artaban stayed, life might be restored. His 
spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency of 
the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his 
faith for the sake of a single deed of charity? 
Should he turn aside, if only for a moment, from 
the following of the star, to give a cup of cold 
water to a poor, perishing Hebrew? 

^‘God of truth and purity,” he prayed, ‘‘direct 
me in the holy path, the way of wisdom wliich 
Thou only knowest.” 

Then he turned back to the sick man. Loosening 
174 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
the grasp of his hand, he carried him to a little 
mound at the foot of the palm-tree. 

He unbound the thick folds of the turban and 
opened the garment above the sunken breast. He 
brought water from one of the small canals near 
by, and moistened the sufferer’s brow and mouth. 
He mingled a draught of one of those simple but 
potent remedies which he carried always in his 
girdle — for the Magians were physicians as well 
as astrologers — and poured it slowly between the 
colourless lips. Hour after hour he laboured as 
only a skilful healer of disease can do. At last 
the man’s strength returned; he sat up and looked 
about him. 

“Who art thou.^” he said, in the rude dialect 
of .tlia. country, “and why hast thou sought me 
here to bring back my life?” 

“I am Artaban the Magian, of the city of Ec- 
batana, and I am going to Jerusalem in search of 
one who is to be born King of the. Jews, a great 
Prince and Deliverer of all men. I dare not delay 
any longer upon my journey, for the caravan that 
has waited for me may depart without me. But 
175 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
see, here is all that I have left of bread and wine, 
and here is a potion of healing herbs. When thy 
strength is restored thou canst find the dwellings 
of the Hebrews among the houses of Babylon.” 

The Jew raised his trembling hand solemnly to 
heaven. 

'^‘Now may-^ God of Abraham and Isaac and 
Jacob bless and prosper the journey of the mer- 
ciful, and bring him in peace to his desired have^ 
Stay ! I have nothing to give thee in return — only 
this: that I can tell thee where the Messiah must 
be sought. For our prophets have said that he 
should be born not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem 
of Judah. May the Lord bring thee in safety to 
that place, because thou hast had pity upon the 
sick.” 

It was already long past midnight. Artaban 
rode in haste, and Vasda, restored by the brief 
rest, ran eagerly through the silent plain and 
swam the channels of the river. She put forth the 
remnant of her strength, and fled over the ground 
like a gazelle. 

But the first beam of the rising sun sent a long 
176 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
shadow before her as she entered upon the final 
stadium of the journey, and the eyes of Artaban, 
anxiously scanning the great mound of Nimrod 
and the Temple of the Seven Spheres, could dis- 
cern no trace of his friends. 

The many-coloured terraces of black and or- 
ange and red and yellow and green and blue and 
white, shattered by the convulsions of nature, and 
crumbling under the repeated blows of human vio- 
lence, still glittered like a ruined rainbow in the 
morning light. 

Artaban rode swiftly around the hill. He dis- 
mounted and climbed to the highest terrace, look- 
ing out toward the west. 

The huge desolation of the marshes stretched 
away to the horizon and the border of the desert. 
Bitterns stood by the stagnant pools and jackals 
skulked through the low bushes ; but fhere was no 
sign of the caravan of the Wise Men, far or 
near. 

O' 

At the edge of th^ terrace he saw a little cairn of 
broken bricks, and under them a piece of papyrus. 
He caught it up and read: “We have waited past 
177 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
the midnight, and can delay no longer. We go to 
find the King. Follow us across the desert.” 

Artaban sat down upon the ground and covered 
his head in despair. 

“How can I cross the desert,” said he, “with no 
food and with a spent horse? I must return to 
Babylon, sell my sapphire, and buy a train of 
camels, and provision for the journey. I may never 
overtake my friends. Only God the merciful knows 
whether I shall not lose the sight of the King be- 
cause I tarried to show mercy.” 

Ill 

There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where 
I was listening to the story of the Other Wise 
Man. Through this silence I saw, but very dimly, 
his figure passing over the dreary undulations of 
the desert, high upon the back of his camel, rock- 
ing steadily onward like a ship over the waves. 

The land of death spread its cruel net around 
him. The stony waste bore no fruit but briers 
and thorns. The dark ledges of rock thrust them- 
178 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

selves above the surface here and there, like the 
bones of perished monsters. Arid and inhospitable 
mountain-ranges rose before him, furrowed with 
dry channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly 
as scars on the face of nature. Shifting hills of 
treacherous sand were heaped like tombs along the 
horizon. By day, the fierce heat pressed its intol- 
erable burden on the quivering air. No living 
creature moved on the dumb, swooning earth, but 
tiny jerboas scuttling through the parched bushes, 
or lizards vanishing in the clefts of the rock. By 
night the jackals prowled and barked in the dis- 
tance, and the lion made the black ravines echo 
with his hollow roaring, while a bitter, blighting 
chill followed the fever of the day. Through heat 
and cold, the Magian moved steadily onward. 

Then I saw the gardens and orchards of Da- 
mascus, watered by the streams of Abana and 
Pharpar, with their sloping swards inlaid with 
bloom, and their thickets of mj^rrh and roses. I 
saw the long, snowy ridge of Hermon, and the 
dark groves of cedars, and the valley of the Jor- 
dan, and the blue waters of the Lake of Galilee, 
J79 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


and the fertile plain of Esdraelon, and the hills 
of Epliraim, and the highlands of Judah. Through 
all these I followed the figure of Artaban^oving 
steadily onward, until he arrived at Bethlehem. 
And it was the third day after the three Wise Men 
had come to that place and had found Mary and 
Joseph, with the young child, Jesus, and had laid 
their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh 
at his feeL^ 

Then the Other Wise Man drew near, weary, 
but full of hope, bearing his ruby and his pearl 
to offer to the King. “For now at last,” he said, 
‘‘I shall surely find him, though I be alone, and 
later than my brethren. This is the place of which 
the Hebrew exile told me that the prophets had 
spoken, and here I shall behold the rising of the 
great light.[^Biit I must inquire about the visit 
of my brethren, and to what house the star 
directed them, and to whom they presented their 
tribute.” ^ 

The streets of the village seemed to be desert^ 
and Artaban wondered whether the men had all 
gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their 
180 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
sheep(^rom the open door of a cottage he heard 


the sound of a woman’s voice singing softly. He 
entered and found a young mother hushing her 
baby to rest. She told him of the strangers from 
the far East who had appeared in the village 
three days ago, and how they said that a star had 
guided them to the place where Joseph of Naza- 
reth was lodging with his wife and her new-born 
child, and how they had paid reverence to the 
child and given him many rich gifts. 

“But the travellers disappeared again,” she con- 
tinued, “as suddenly as they had com^ We were 
afraid at the strangeness of their visit. We could 
not understand it. The man of Nazareth took the 
child and his mother, and fled away that same night 
secretly, and it was whispered that they were 
going to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a spell 
upon the village; something evil hangs over it. 
They say that the Roman soldiers are coming 
from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and 
the men have driven the flocks and herds far back 
among the hills, and hidden themselves to es- 
cape it.” 


181 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

Artaban listened to her gentle, timid speech, 
and the child in her arms looked up in his face 
and smiled, stretching out its rosy hands to grasp 
at the winged circle of gold on his breast. His 
heart warmed to the touchy It seemed like a greet- 
ing of love and trust to one who had journeyed 
long in loneliness and perplexity, fighting with his 
own doubts and fears, and following a light that 
was veiled in clouds. 

‘‘Why might not this child have been the prom- 
ised Prince?” he asked within himself, as he 
touched its soft cheek. “Kings have been born ere 
now in lowlier houses than this, and the favourite 
of the stars may rise even from a cottage. But it 
has not seemed good to the God of wisdom to re- 
ward my search so soon and so easily. The one 
whom I seek has gone before me; and now I must 
follow the King to Egypt.” 

The young mother laid the baby in its cradle, 
and rose to minister to the wants of the strange 
guest that fate had brought into her house. She 
set food before him, the plain fare of peasants, 
but willingly offered, and therefore full of refresh- 


182 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
merit for the soul as well as for the body. Artaban 
accepted it gratefully ; and, as he ate, the child 
fell into a happy slumber, and murmured sweetly 
in its dreams, and a great peace filled the room. 

But suddenly there came the noise of a wild 
confusion in the streets of the village, a shrieking 
and wailing of women’s voices, a clangour of 
brazen timmpets and a clashing of swords, and 
a desperate cry: “The soldiers! the soldiers of 
Herod I They are killing our children.” 

The young mother’s face grew white with ter- 
ror. She clasped her child to her bosom, and 
crouched motionless in the darkest comer of the 
room, covering him with the folds of her robe, 
lest he should wake and cry. 

But Artaban went quickly and stood in the 
doorway of the house. His broad shoulders filled 
the portal from side to side,) and the peak of his 
white cap all but touched the lintel. 

The soldiers came hurrying down the street 
with bloody hands and dripping swords. At the 
sight of the stranger in his imposing dress they 
hesitated with surprise. The captain of the band 
183 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


approached the threshold to thrust him aside. But 
Artaban did not stir. His face was as calm as 
though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes 
there burned that steady radiance before which 
even the half-tamed hunting leopard shrinks, and 
the bloodhound pauses in his leap. , He held the 
soldier silently for an instant, and then said in a 
low voice: 

“I am all alone in this place, and I am waiting 
to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will 
leave me in peace.” 

He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow 
of his hand like a great drop of blood. 

The captain was amazed at the splendour of 
the gem. The pupils of his eyes expanded with 
desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around 
his lips. He stretched out his hand and took the 
ruby. 

“March on!” he cried to his men, “there is no 
child here. The house is empty .”^ 

The clamour and the clang of arms passed down 
the street as the headlong fury of the chase sweeps 
by the secret covert where the trembling deer is 
184 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 


hidden.; Artaban re-entered the cottage. He turned 
his face to the east and prayed: 

(^‘God of truth, forgive my sin! I have said the 
thing that is not, to save the life of a child^ An d 
two of my gifts are gone.jl have spent for man 
that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be 
worthy to see the face of the King.?’^ 

But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in 
the shadow behind him, said very gently : 


^^J^cause thou hast saved the life of my little 
one, may the Lord bless thee and keep fh^ the 
Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be 
gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His coun- 
tenance upon thee and give thee peace.” 


IV 

Again there was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, 
deeper and more mysterious than the first interval, 
and I understood that the years of Artaban were 
flowing very swiftl^ under the stillness, and I 
caught only a glimpse, here and there, of the river 
of his life shining through the mist that concealed 
its course. 


185 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

I saw him moving among the throngs of men 
in populous Egypt, seeking everywhere for traces 
of the household that had come down from Beth- 
lehem, and finding them under the spreading syca- 
more-trees of Heliopolis, and beneath the walls of 
the Roman fortress of New Babylon beside the 
Nile — traces so faint and dim that they vanished 
before him continually, as footprints on the wet 
river-sand glisten for a moment with moisture and 
then disappear. 

I saw him again at the foot of the pyramids, 
which lifted their sharp points into the intense 
saffron glow of the sunset sky, changeless monu- 
ments of the perishable glory and the imperish- 
able hope of man. He looked up into the face of 
the crouching Sphinx and vainly tried to read the 
meaning of the calm eyes and smiling mouth. 
Was it, indeed, the mockery of all effort and all 
aspiration, as Tigranes had said — the cruel jest 
of a riddle that has no answer, a search that never 
can succeed? Or was there a touch of pity and 
encouragement in that inscrutable smile — a prom- 
ise that even the defeated should attain a 


186 



THE OTHER WISE MAN 

and the disappointed should discover a prize, and 
the ignorant should be made wise, and the blind 
should see, and the wandering should come into 
the haven at last? 

I saw him again in an obscure house of Alex- 
andria, taking counsel with a Hebrew rabbi. The 
venerable man, bending over the rolls of parch- 
ment on which the prophecies of Israel were writ- 
ten, read aloud the pathetic words which foretold 
the sufferings of the promised Messiah — the de- 
spised and rejected of men, the man of sorrows 
and acquainted with grief. 

‘‘And remember, my son,” said he, fixing his 
eyes upon the face of Artaban, “the King whom 
thou seekest is not to be found in a palace, nor 
among the rich and powerful. If the light of the 
W'orld and the glory of Israel had been appointed 
to come with the greatness of earthly splendour, 
it must have appeared long ago. For no son of 
Abraham will ever again rival the power which 
Joseph had in the palaces of Egypt, or the mag- 
nificence of Solomon throned between the lions in 
Jerusalem. But the light for which the world is 
187 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


waiting is a new light, the glory that shall rise 
out of patient and triumphant suffering. And the 
kingdom which is to be established forever is a 
new kingdom, the royalty of unconquerable love. 

“I do not know how this shall come to pass, 
nor how the turbulent kings and peoples of earth 
shall be brought to acknowledge the Messiah and 
pay homage to him. But this I know. Those who 
seek him will do well to look among the poor and 
the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.” 

So I saw the Other Wise Man again and again, 
travelling from place to place^and searching 
among the people of the dispersion, with whom 
the little family from Bethlehem might, perhaps, 
have found a refuge. He passed through countries 
where famine lay heavy upon the land, and the 
poor were crying for bread^^e made his dwelling 
in plague-stricken cities where the sick were lan- 
guishing in the bitter companionship of helpless 
misery. He visited the oppressed and the afflicted 
in the gloom of subterranean prisons, and the 
crowded wretchedness of slave-markets, and the 
weary toil of galley-ships, l ln all this populous 
188 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 


and intricate world of anguish, though he found 
none to worship, he found many to help^^e fed 
the hungry, and clothed the naked, and healed the 
sick, and comforted the captive; and his years 
passed more swiftly than the weaver’s shuttle that 
flashes back and forth through the loom\while the 
web grows and the pattern is completed. 

^ It seemed almost as if he had forgotten his 
quest. But once I saw him for a moment as he 
stood alone at sunrise, waiting at the gate of a 
Roman prison. He had taken from a secret rest- 
ing-place in his bosom the pearl, the last of his 
jewels. As he looked at it, a mellower lustre, a 
soft and iridescent light, full of shifting gleams 
of azure and rose, trembled upon its surface. It 
seemed to have absorbed some reflection of the lost 
sapphire and ruby. So the secret purpose of a 
noble life draws into itself the memories of past 
joy and past sorro^ All that has helped it, all 
that has hindered it, is transfused by a subtle 
magic into its very essence. It becomes more lu- 
minous and precious the longer it is carried close 
to the warmth of the beating heart. 

189 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

Then, at last, while I was thinking of this pearl, 
and of its meaning, I heard the end of the story 
of the Other Wise Man. 

V 

Three-and-thirty years of the life of Artaban 
had passed awa}^, and he was still a pilgrim and 
a seeker after light. His hair, once darker than the 
cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow 
that covered them. His eyes, that once flashed like 
flames of fire, w^ere dull as embers smouldering 
among the ashes. 

Worn and weary and ready to die, but still look- 
ing for the King, he had come for the last time 
to Jerusalem. He had often visited the holy city 
before, and had searched all its lanes and crowded 
hovels and black prisons without finding any trace 
of the family of Nazarenes who had fled from 
Bethlehem long ago. But now it seemed as if he 
must make one more effort, and something whis- 
pered in his heart that, at last, he might succeed. 

It was the season of the Passover. The city was 
thronged with strangers. The children of Israel, 

190 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 

scattered in far lands, had returned to the Tem« 
pie for the great feast, and there had been a con- 
fusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many 
days. 

But- on this day a singular agitation was visible 
in the multitude. The sky was veiled with a por- 
tentous gloom. Currents of excitement seemed to 
flash through the crowd. A secret tide was sweep- 
ing them all one way. The clatter of sandals and 
the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet 
shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along 
the street that leads to the Damascus gate. 

Artaban joined a group of people from his own 
country, Parthian Jews who had come up to keep 
the Passover, and inquired of them the cause of 
the tumult, and where they were going. 

“We are going,” they answered, “to the place 
called Golgotha, outside the city walls, where 
there is to be an execution. Have you not heard 
what has happened? Two famous robbers are to 
be crucified, and with them another, called Jesus 
uf Nazareth, a- man who has done many wonder- 
ful works among the people, so that they love him 
iQ* 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

greatlj^But the priests and elders have said that 
he must die, because he gave himself out to be 
the Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the 
cross because he said that he was the ‘King of the 
Jews.’ ” 

(^How strangely these familiar words fell upon 
the tired heart of Artaban! They had led him for 
a lifetime over land and sea. And now they came 
to him mysteriously, like a message of despair. 
The King had arisen, but he had been denied and 
cast out. He was about to perish. Perhaps he was 
already dying. Could it be the same who had been 
born in Bethlehem thirty-three years ago, at whose 
birth the star had appeared in heaven, and of 
whose coming the prophets had spoken.^ 

Artaban’s heart beat unsteadily! with that 
troubled, doubtful apprehension which is the ex- 
citement of old age. Biit he said within himself: 
“The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts 
of men, and it may be that I shall find the King, 
at last, in the hands of his enemies, and shall come 
in time to offer my pearl for his ranso^ before 
he dies.” 


192 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
So the old man followed the multitude with slow 
and painful steps toward the Damascus gate of 


the city, just beyond the entrance of the guard- 


house a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down 
the street, dragging a young girl with torn dress 
and dishevelled hair. As the Magian paused to 
look at her with compassion, she broke suddenly 
from the hands of her tormentors, and threw her- 



self at his feet, clasping him around 


She had seen his white cap and the winged circle 
on his breast. 

“Have pity on me,” she cried, “and save me, 
for the sake of the God of Purity! I also am a 
daughter of the true religion which is taught by 
the Magi. My father was a merchant of Parthia, 
bukdie is-_^dead, and I am seized for his debts to 
be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!” 
^rtaban trembled.) 

ctt was the old conflict in his soul, which had 
come to him in the palm-grove of Babylon and in 
the cottage at Bethlehem — the conflict between 
the expectation of faith and the impulse of love, j 
VTvi ce the gift which he had consecrated to fJxe^ 


193 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


worship of religion had been drawn to the service 
of humanity. This was the third trial, the ultimate 
probation, the final and irrevocable choice. 

Was it his great opportunity, or his last temp- 
tation? He could not tell. One thing only was 
clear in the darkness of his mind — it was inevi- 
table. And does not the inevitable come from 
God? 

One thing only was sure to his divided heart — 
to rescue this helpless girl would be a true deed 
of love. And is not love the light of the soul? 

He took the pearl from his bosom. Never had 
it seemed so luminous, so radiant, so full of ten- 
der, living lustre. He laid it in the hand of the 
slave. 

“This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last 
of my treasures which I kept for the King.’^ 

While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deep- 
ened, and shuddering tremors ran through the 
earth heaving convulsively like the breast of one 
who struggles with mighty grief. 

The walls of the houses rocked to and fro. 
Stones were loosened and crashed into the street. 
194 


THE OTHER WISE MAN 
Dust clouds filled the air. The soldiers fled in ter- 
ror, reeling like drunken men. But Artaban and 
the girl whom he had ransomed crouched helpless 
beneath the wall of the Praetorium. 

had he to fear.? What had he to hope? 
He had given away the last remnant of his tribute 
for the King. He had parted with the last hope 
of finding him. The quest was over, and it had 
failed. But, even in that thought, accepted and 
embraced, there was peace\ It was not resignation. 
It was not submission. It was something more pro- 
found and searching. He knew that all was well, 
because he had done the best that he could from 
day to day. He had been true to the light that 
had been given to him. He had looked for more. 
And if he had not found it, if a failure was all 
that came out of his life, doubtless that was the 
best that was possible. He had not seen the revela- 
tion of “life everlasting, incorruptible and im- 
mortal.” But he knew that even if he could live 
his earthly life over again, it could not be other- 
wise than it had been. 

One more lingering pulsation of the earthquake 

195 


THE BLUE FLOWEli 

quivered through the ground. A heavy tile, shaken 
from the roof, fell and struck the old man on the 
temple. He lay breathless and pale, with his gray 
head resting on the young girl’s shoulder, and the 
blood trickling from the wound. As she bent over 
him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice 
through the twilight, very small and still, like 
music sounding from a distance, in which the notes 
are clear but the words are lost. The girl turned 
to see if some one had spoken from the window 
above them, but she saw no one. 

Then the old man’s lips began to move, as if 
in answer, and she heard him say in the Parthian 
tongue : 

“Not so, my Lord! For when saw I thee an 
hungered and fed thee.^ Or thirsty, and gave thee 
drink When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee 
in.^ Or naked, and clothed thee.? When saw I thee 
sick or in prison, and came unto thee.?j^hree-and- 
thirty years have I looked for thee; but I have 
never seen thy face, nor ministeredjto thee, my 
K^.” 

He ceased, and the sweet voice came again. And 

196 



Then the old man’s lips began to move. 









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THE OTHER WISE MAN 


again the maid heard it, very faint and far awaj^ 
But now. it seemed as though she understood the 
ytords : 

1 say unto thee^^nasmuch as thou hast 
done it unto one of the least of these ray brethren, 
thou hast done it unto me.” 

A calm raliiance of wonder and joy lighted the 
pale face of Artaban like the first ray of dawn 
on a snowy mountain-peak. A long breath of re- 
lief exhaled gently from his lips. 

His journey was ended. His treasures were ac- 
cepted. The Other Wise Man had found the King.”! 



A HANDFUL OF CLAY 


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A HANDFUL OF CLAY 

There was a handful of clay in the bank of a 
river. It was only common clay, coarse and heavy ; 
but it had high thoughts of its own value, and won- 
derful dreams of the great place which it was to 
fill in the world when the time came for its virtues 
to be discovered. 

Overhead, in the spring sunshine, the trees whis- 
pered together of the glory which descended upon 
them when the delicate blossoms and leaves began 
to expand, and the forest glowed with fair, clear 
colours, as if the dust of thousands of rubies and 
emeralds were hanging, in soft clouds, above the 
earth. 

The flowers, surprised with the joy of beauty, 
bent their heads to one another, as the wind ca- 
ressed them, and said: “Sisters, how lovely you 
have become. You make the day bright.” 

The river, glad of new strength and rejoicing 
in the unison of all its waters, murmured to the 
shores in music, telling of its release from icy fet- 
SOI 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
ters, its swift flight from the snow-clad mountains, 
and the mighty work to which it was hurrying — 
the wheels of many mills to be turned, and great 
ships to be floated to the sea. 

Waiting blindly in its bed, the clay comforted 
itself with lofty hopes. “My time will come,” it 
said. “I was not made to be hidden forever. Glory 
and beauty and honour are coming to me in due 
season.” 

One day the clay felt itself taken from the place 
where it had waited so long. A flat blade of iron 
passed beneath it, and lifted it, and tossed it into 
a cart with other lumps of clay, and it was carried 
far away, as it seemed, over a rough and stony 
road. But it was not afraid, nor discouraged, for 
it said to itself: “This is necessary. The path to 
glory is always rugged. Now I am on my way to 
play a great part in the world.” 

But the hard journey was nothing compared 
with the tribulation and distress that came after it. 
The clay was put into a trough and mixed and 
beaten and stirred and trampled. It seemed almost 
unbearable. But there was consolation in the 
202 


A HANDFUL OF CLAY 
thought that something very fine and noble was 
certainly coming out of all this trouble. The clay 
felt sure that, if it could only wait long enough, 
a wonderful reward was in store for it. 

Then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel, 
and whirled around until it seemed as if it must fly 
into a thousand pieces. A strange power pressed it 
and moulded it, as it revolved, and through all the 
dizziness and pain it felt that it was taking a new 
form. 

Then an unknown hand put it into an oven, and 
fires were kindled about it — fierce and penetrating 
— hotter than all the heats of summer that had 
ever brooded upon the bank of the river. But 
through all, the clay held itself together and en- 
dured its trials, in the confidence of a great future. 
“Surely,” it thought, “I am intended for some- 
thing very splendid, since such pains are taken 
with me. Perhaps I am fashioned for the ornament 
of a temple, or a precious vase for the table of a 
king.” 

At last the baking was finished. The clay was 
taken from the furnace and set down upon a board, 


203 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
in the cool air, under the blue sky. The tribulation 
was passed. The reward was at hand. 

Close beside the board there was a pool of 
water, not very deep, nor very clear, but calm 
enough to reflect, with impartial truth, every 
image that fell upon it. There, for the first time, 
as it was lifted from the board, the clay saw its new 
shape, the reward of all its patience and pain, the 
consummation of its hopes — a common flower-pot, 
straight and stiff, red and ugly. And then it felt 
that it was not destined for a king’s house, nor for 
a palace of art, because it was made without glory 
or beauty or honour ; and it murmured against the 
unknown maker, saying, “Why hast thou made me 
thus.?” 

Many days it passed in sullen discontent. Then 
it was filled with earth, and something — it knew 
not what — but something rough and brown and 
dead-looking, was thrust into the middle of the 
earth and covered over. The clay rebelled at this 
new disgrace. “This is the worst of all that has 
happened to me, to be filled with dirt and rubbish. 
Surely I am a failure.” 


204 


A HANDFUL OF CLAY 
But presently it was set in a greenhouse, where 
the sunlight fell warm upon it, and water was 
sprinkled over it, and day by day as it waited, a 
change began to come to it. Something was stir- 
ring within it — a new hope. Still it was ignorant, 
and knew not what the new hope meant. 

One day the clay was lifted again from its place, 
and carried into a great church. Its dream was 
coming true after all. It had a fine part to play in 
the world. Glorious music flowed over it. It was 
surrounded with flowers. Still it could not under- 
stand. So it whispered to another vessel of clay, 
like itself, close beside it, “Why have they set me 
here ? Why do all the people look toward us ?” And 
the other vessel answered, “Do you not know.?* You 
are carrying a royal sceptre of lilies. Their petals 
are white as snow, and the heart of them is like 
pure gold. The people look this way because the 
flower is the most wonderful in the world. And the 
root of it is In your heart.” 

Then the clay was content, and silently thanked 
its maker, because, though an earthen vessel, it 
held so great a treasure. 

205 



THE LOST WORD 



THE LOST WORD 


“Come down, Hermas, come down! The night 
is past. It is time to be stirring. Christ is born to- 
day. Peace be with you in His name. Make haste 
and come down I” 

A little group of young men were standing in 
a street of Antioch, in the dusk of early morning, 
fifteen hundred years ago- — a class of candidates 
who had nearly finished their years of training for 
the Christian church. They had come to call their 
fellow-student Hermas from his lodging. 

Their voices rang out cheerily through the cool 
air. They were full of that glad sense of life which 
the young feel when they have risen early and come 
to rouse one who is still sleeping. There was a note 
of friendly triumph in their call, as if they were ex- 
ulting unconsciously in having begun the advent- 
ure of the new day before their comrade. 

But Hermas was not asleep. He had been wak- 
ing for hours, and the walls of his narrow lodging 
Copyright, 1898, by Charles Scribner’s Sons 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
had been a prison to his heart. A nameless sorrow 
and discontent had fallen upon him, and he could 
find no escape from the heaviness of his own 
thoughts. 

There Is a sadness of youth into which the old 
cannot enter. It seems unreal and causeless. But 
it is even more bitter and burdensome than the 
sadness of age. There is a sting of resentment in 
it, a fever of angry surprise that the world should 
so soon be a disappointment, and life so earty take 
on the look of a failure. It has little reason in it, 
perhaps, but it has all the more weariness and 
gloom, because the man who is oppressed by it 
feels dimly that it is an unnatural thing that he 
should be tired of living before he has fairly be- 
gun to live. 

Hermas had fallen into the very depths of this 
strange self-pity. He was out of tune with every- 
thing around him. He had been thinking, through 
the dead night, of all that he had given up when 
he left the house of his father, the wealthy pagan 
Demetrius, to join the company of the Christians. 
Only two years ago he had been one of the richest 


210 


THE LOST WORD 
young men in Antioch. Now he was one of the 
poorest. The worst of it was that, though he had 
made the choice willingly and with a kind of en- 
thusiasm, he was already dissatisfied with it. 

The new life was no happier than the old. He 
was weary of vigils and fasts, weary of studies 
and penances, weary of prayers and sermons. He 
felt like a slave in a treadmill. He knew that he 
must go on. His honour, his conscience, his sense 
of duty, bound him. He could not go back to the 
old careless pagan life again; for something had 
happened within him which made a return impos- 
sible. Doubtless he had found the true relig- 
ion, but he had found it only as a task and a bur- 
den; its joy and peace had slipped away from 
him. 

He felt disillusioned and robbed. He sat beside 
his hard couch, waiting without expectancy for 
the gray dawm of another empty day, and hardly 
lifting his head at the shouts of his friends. 

“Come down, Hernias, you sluggard ! Come 
dow n ! It i& Christmas morn. Awake, and be glad 
with us!” 


211 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
‘‘I am coming,” he answered listlessly; ‘‘only 
have patience a moment. I have been awake since 
midnight, and waiting for the day.” 

“You hear him !” said his friends one to an- 
other. “How he puts us all to shame! He is more 
watchful, more eager, than any of us. Our mas- 
ter, John the Presbyter, does well to be proud of 
him. He is the best man in our class.” 

While they were talking the door opened and 
Hermas stepped out. He was a figure to be re- 
marked in any company — tall, broad-shouldered, 
straight-hipped, with a head proudly poised on 
the firm column of the neck, and short brown curls 
clustering over the square forehead. It was the 
perpetual type of vigorous and intelligent young 
manhood, such as may be found in every century 
among the throngs of ordinary men, as if to 
show what the flower of the race should be. But 
the light in his eyes was clouded and uncertain; 
Ills smooth cheeks were leaner than they should 
have been at twenty; and there were downward 
lines about his mouth which spoke of desires un- 
satisfied and ambitions repressed. He joined his 
212 


THE LOST WORD 
companions with brief greetings, — a nod to one, 
a word to another, — and they passed together 
down the steep street. 

Overhead the mystery of daybreak was silently 
transfiguring the sky. The curtain of darkness had 
lifted along the edge of the horizon. The ragged 
crests of Mount Silpius were outlined with pale 
saffron light. In the central vault of heaven a few 
large stars twinkled drowsily. The great city, still 
chiefly pagan, lay more than half-asleep. But mul- 
titudes of the Christians, dressed in white and car- 
rying lighted torches in their hands, were hurry- 
ing toward the Basilica of Constantine to keep 
the new holy-day of the church, the festival of tht 
birthday of their Master. 

The vast, bare building was soon crowded, and 
the younger converts, who were not yet permitted 
to stand among the baptised, found it difficult to 
come to their appointed place between the first two 
pillars of the house, just within the threshold. 
There was some good-humoured pressing and jost- 
ling about the door; but the candidates pushed 
steadily forward. 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
your leave, friends, our station is beyond 
you. Will you let us pass? Many thanks.” 

A touch here, a courteous nod there, a little pa- 
tience, a little persistence, and at last they stood 
in their place. Hermas was taller than his com- 
panions; he could look easily over their heads 
and survey the sea of people stretching away 
through the columns, under the shadows of the 
high roof, as the tide spreads on a calm day into 
the pillared cavern of Staff a, quiet as if the ocean 
hardly dared to breathe. The light of many flam- 
beaux fell, in flickering, uncertain rays, over the 
assembly. At the end of the vista there was a cir- 
cle of clearer, steadier radiance. Hermas could see 
the bishop in his great chair, surrounded by the 
presbyters, the lofty desks on either side for the 
readers of the Scripture, the communion-table and 
the table of offerings in the middle of the church. 

The call to prayer sounded down the long aisle. 
Thousands of hands were joyously lifted in the 
air, as if the sea had blossomed into waving lilies, 
and the ‘‘Amen” was like the murmur of countless 
ripples in an echoing place. 


214 


THE LOST WORD 


Then the singing began, led by the choir of a 
hundred trained voices which the Bishop Paul had 
founded in Antioch. Timidly, at first, the music 
felt its way, as the people joined with a broken 
and uncertain cadence: the mingling of many lit- 
tle waves not yet gathered into rhythm and har- 
mony. Soon the longer, stronger billows of song 
rolled in, sweeping from side to side as the men 
and the women answered in the clear antiphony. 

Hermas had often been carried on those 

Tides o f music* s golden sea 
Setting toward eternity^ 

But to-day his heart was a rock that stood mo-* 
tionless. The flood passed by and left him un- 
moved. 

Looking out from his place at the foot of the 
pillar, he saw a man standing far off in the lofty 
bema. Short and slender, wasted by sickness, gray 
before his time, with pale cheeks and wrinkled 
brow, he seemed at first like a person of no sig- 
nificance — a reed shaken in the wind. But there 
look in his deep-set, poignant eyes, as he 
215 


was a 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
gathered all the glances of the multitude to him- 
self, that belied his mean appearance and prophe- 
sied power. Hermas knew very well who it was: 
the man who had drawn him from his father’s 
house, the teacher who was instructing him as a 
son in the Christian faith, the guide and trainer 
of his soul — John of Antioch, whose fame filled 
the city and began to overflow Asia, and who was 
called already Chrysostom, the golden-mouthed 
preacher. 

Hermas had felt the magic of his eloquence 
many a time; and to-day, as the tense voice vi- 
brated through the stillness, and the sentences 
moved onward, growing fuller and stronger, bear- 
ing argosies of costly rhetoric and treasures of 
homely speech in their bosom, and drawing the 
hearts of men with a resistless magic, Hermas knew 
that the preacher had never been more potent, 
more inspired. 

He played on that immense congregation as a 
master on an instrument. He rebuked their sins, 
and they trembled. He touched their sorrows, and 
they wept. He spoke of the conflicts, the triumphs, 
216 


THE LOST WORD 


the glories of their faith, and they broke out in 
thunders of applause. He hushed them into rev- 
erent silence, and led them tenderly, with the wise 
men of the East, to the lowly birthplace of Jesus. 

“Do thou, therefore, likewise leave the Jewish 
people, the troubled city, the bloodthirsty tyrant, 
the pomp of the world, and hasten to Bethlehem, 
the sweet house of spiritual bread. For though 
thou be but a shepherd, and come hither, thou 
shalt behold the young Child in an inn. Though 
thou be a king, and come not hither, thy purple 
robe shall profit thee nothing. Though thou be 
one of the wise men, this shall be no hindrance to 
thee. Only let thy coming be to honour and adore, 
with trembling joy, the Son of God, to whose 
name be glory, on this His birthday, and forever 
and forever.” 

The soul of Hermas did not answer to the mu- 
sician’s touch. The strings of his heart were slack 
and soundless; there was no response within him. 
He was neither shepherd, nor king, nor wise man ; 
only an unhappy, dissatisfied, questioning youth. 
He was out of sympathy with the eager preacher, 
217 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


the joyous hearers. In their harmony he had no 
part. Was it for this that he had forsaken his in- 
heritance and narrowed his life to poverty and 
hardship.^ What was it all worth 

The gracious prayers with which the j^^oung 
converts were blessed and dismissed before the sac* 
rament sounded hollow in his ears. Never had he 
felt so utterly lonely as in that praying throng. 
He went out with his companions like a man de- 
parting from a banquet where all but he had been 
fed. 

“Farewell, Hermas,” they cried, as he turned 
from them at the door. But he did not look back, 
nor wave his hand. He was already alone in his 
heart. 

When he entered the broad Avenue of the Col- 
onnades, the sun had already topped the eastern 
hills, and the ruddy light was streaming through 
the long double row of archways and over the 
pavements of crimson marble. But Hermas turned 
his back to the morning, and walked with his 
shadow before him. 


218 


THE LOST WORD 
The street began to swarm and whirl and quiver 
with the motley life of a huge city: beggars and 
jugglers, dancers and musicians, gilded youths in 
their chariots, and daughters of joy looking out 
from their windows, all intoxicated with the mere 
delight of living and the gladness of a new da3^ 
The pagan populace of Antioch — reckless, pleas- 
ure-loving, spendthrift — were preparing for the 
Saturnalia. But all this Hermas had renounced. 
He cleft his way through the crowd slowly, like a 
reluctant swimmer weary of breasting the tide. 

At the corner of the street where the narrow, 
populous Lane of the Camel-drivers crossed the 
Colonnades, a story-teller had bewitched a circle 
of people around him. It was the same old tale of 
love and adventure that many generations have 
listened to ; but the lively fancy of the hearers lent 
it new interest, and the wit of the Improviser drew 
forth sighs of interest and shouts of laughter. 

A yellow-haired girl on the edge of the throng 
turned, as Hermas passed, and smiled in his face. 
She put out her hand and caught him by the 
sleeve. 


219 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

“Stay,” she said, “and laugh a bit with us. I 
know who you are — the son of Demetrius. You 
must have bags of gold. Why do you look so black ? 
Love is alive yet.” 

Hermas shook off her hand, but not ungently. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “You 
are mistaken in me. I am poorer than you are.” 

But as he passed on, he felt the warm touch of 
her fingers through the cloth on his arm. It seemed 
as if she had plucked him by the heart. 

He went out by the Western Gate, under the 
golden cherubim that the Emperor Titus had 
stolen from the ruined Temple of Jerusalem and 
fixed upon the arch of triumph. He turned to the 
left, and climbed the hill to the road that led to 
the Grove of Daphne. 

In all the world there was no other highway as 
beautiful. It wound for five miles along the foot of 
the mountains, among gardens and villas, planta- 
tions of myrtles and mulberries, with wide out- 
looks over the valley of Orontes and the distant^ 
shimmering sea. 

The richest of all the dwellings was the House 
220 


THE LOST WORD 
of the Golden Pillars, the mansion of Demetrius, -J 
He had won the favor of the apostate Emperor 
Julian, whose vain efforts to restore the worship 
of the heathen gods, some twenty years ago, had 
opened an easy way to wealth and power for all 
whcr ^o^d^ mock and opj^e Christianity. Deme- 
trius, not a sincere fanatic like his royal mas- 
ter; huk he was bitter enough in his professed 
scorn of the new religion, to make him a favourite 
at the court where the old religion was in fashion. 

He had reaped a rich reward of his policy, and a 
strange sense of consistency made him more fiercely 
loyal to it than if it had been a real faith. He was 
proud of being called ‘Hhe friend of Julian”; and 
when his son joined himself to the Christians, and 
acknowledged the unseen God, it seemed like an 
insult to his father’s success. He drove the boy 
from his door and disinherited him. 

The glittering portico of the serene, haughty 
house, the repose of the well-ordered garden, still 
blooming with belated flowers, seemed at once to 
deride and to invite the young outcast plodding 
along the dusty road.V‘This is your birthright,”^ 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


whispered the clambering rose-trees by the gate; 
and the closed portals of carven bronze said : “You 
have sold it for a thought — a dream.’* 

II 

Heemas found the Grove of Daphne quite de- 
serted. There was no sound in the enchanted vale 
but the rustling of the light winds chasing each 
other through the laurel thickets, and the babble 
of innumerable streams. Memories of the days and 
nights of delicate pleasure that the grove had 
often seen still haunted the bewildered paths and 
broken fountains. At the foot of a rocky eminence, 
crowned with the ruins of Apollo’s temple, which 
had been mysteriously destroyed by fire just after 
Julian had restored and reconsecrated it, Herraas 
sat down beside a gushing spring, and gave him- 
self up to sadness. 

^‘How beautiful the world would be, how joy- 
ful, how easy to live in, without religion ^JThese 
questions about unseen things, perhaps about un- 
real things, these restraints and duties and /sacri- 

222 


THE LOST WORD 

^ were only free from them aR, and could 
only forget them all, then I could live my life as I 
pleased, and be happy.” 

‘‘Why not.f^” said a quiet voice at his back. 

He turned, and saw an old man with a long 
beard and na" threadbare cloak (the garb affected 
pagan philosopher standing behind him 
and smiling curiously. 

“How is it that you answer that which has not 
been spoken.^” said Hermas; “and who are you 
that honour me with your company.?” 

“Forgive the intrusion,” answered the stranger; 
“it is not ill meant. A friendly interest is as good 
as an introduction.” 

“But , to what singular circumstance do I owe 
tills interest.?” 

“To your face,” said the old man,j^ith a cour- 
teous inclination. “Perhaps also a little to the fact 
that I am the oldest inhabitant here, and feel as 
if all visitors were my guests, in a way.” 

“Are you, then, one of the keepers of the grove? 
And have you given up your work with the trees 
to take a holiday as a philosopher?” 

9,9.3 


- - ' ■ 

THE BLUE FLOWER 

‘■Not at all. The robe of philo^phy is a mere 
affectation, I must confess. I thinlc little of it. My 
profession is the care of altars. In fact,- 1 aip the 
solitary priest of Apollo T^hom the Emperor Julian 
found here when he came to revive the worship of 
the grove, some twenty years ago. You have heard 
of the incident.?” 

“Yes,” said Hermas^ beginning to be interested ; 
“the whole city must have heard of it, for it is still 
talked of. But surely it was a strange sacrifice that 
you brought to celebrate the restoration of Apol- 
lo’s temple.?” 

“You mean the ancient goose.?” said the old 
man laughing. “Well, perhaps it was not pre- 
cisely what the emperor expected. But it was all 
that I had, and it seemed to me not inappropriate. 
You will agree to that if you are a Christian, as I 
guess from your dress.” 

“You speak lightly for a priest of Apollo.” 

“Oh, as for that, I am no bigot. The priesthood 
is a professional matter, and the name of Apollo 
is as good as any other. How many altars do vou 
think there have been in this grove.?” 


THE LOST WORD 

‘‘I do not know.” 

“Just four-and-twenty, including that of the 
martyr Baby las, whose ruined chapel you see just 
beyond us. I have had something to do with most 
of them in my time. They are transitory. They 
give employment to care-takers for a while. But 
the thing that lasts, and the thing that interests 
me, is the human life that plays around them. The 
game has been going on for centuries. It still dis- 
ports itself very pleasantly on summer evenings 
through these shady walks. Believe me, for I know. 
Daphne and Apollo are shadows. But the flying 
maidens and the pursuing lovers, the music and 
the dances, these are realities. Life is a game, and 
the world keeps it up merrily. But you? You are 
of a sad countenance for one so young and so fair. 
Are you a loser in the game?” 

The words and,, tone .of the speaker fitted Her- 
nias’ mood as a key fits the lock. He opened his 
heart to the old man, and told him the story of 
his life: his luxurious bo3^hood in his father’s 
house; the irresistible spell which compelled him 
to forsake it when he heard John’s preaching of 
225 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


the new religion; his lone! ir with the ancho- 
rites among the mountain^ , tne strict discipline in 
his teacher’s house at Antioch ; his\^eariness of duty, 



his distaste for poverty, his discontent with worship. 

“And to-day,” said he, “I have been thinking 
that I am a fool. My life is swept as bare as a her- 
mit’s cell. There is nothing in it but a dream, a 
thought of God, which does not satisfy me.” 

The singular smile deepened on his companion’s 
face. “You are ready, then,” he suggested, “to re- 
nounce your new religion and go back to that of 
your father?” 

“No; I renounce nothing, I accept nothing. I 
do not wish to think about it. I only wish to live.” 

“A very reasonable wish, and I think you are 
about to see its accomplishment. Indeed, I may 
even say that I can put you in the way of secur- 
ing it. Do you believe in magic?” 

“I do not know whether I believe in any tiling. 
This is not a day on which I care to make profes- 
sions of faith. I believe in what I see. I want what 
will give me pleasure.” 

“Well,” said th(» old man, soothingly, 'as he 


226 


THE LOST WORD 
plucked a leaf from the laurel-tree above them 
and dipped it in the spring, “let us dismiss the 
riddles of belief. I like them as little as you do. 
You know this is a Castalian fountain. The Em- 
peror Hadrian once read his fortune here from a 
leaf dipped in the water. Let us see what this leaf 
tells us. It is already turning yellow. How do you 
read that.^” 

“Wealth,” said Hermas, laughing, as he looked 
at his mean garments. 

“And here is a bud on the stem that seems to be 
swelling. What is that.^” 

“Pleasure,” answered Hermas, bitterly. 

“And here is a tracing of wreaths upon the sur- 
face. What do you make of that.?” 

“What you will,” said Hermas, not even taking 
the trouble to look. “Suppose we say success and 
fame.?” 

“Yes,” said the stranger; “it is all written here. 
I promise that you shall enjoy it all. But 3^ou do 
not need to believe in my promise. I am not in the 
habit of requiring faith of those whom I would 
serve. No such hard conditions for me! ^here is 


227 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
only one thing that I ask. This is the season that 
you Christiaiis call the Christmas, and you have 
taken up the pagan custom of exchanging gifts. 
Well, if I give to you, you must give to me. It is 
a small thing, and really the thing you can best 
afford to part with;* a single word — the name of 
Him you profess to worship. Let me take that 
word and all that belongs to it entirely out of 
your life, so that you shall never hear it or speak 
it again. Ydii will be richer without it. I promise 
you everything, and this is all I ask in return. Do 
you consent.?^” 

“Yes. I consent,” said Hermas, mocking. “If 
you can take your price, a word, you can keep 3"our 
promise, a dream.” 

The stranger laid the long, cool, wet leaf softly 
across the young man’s eyes. An icicle of pain 
darted through them ; every nerve in his body was 
drawn together there in a knot of agony. 

Then all the tangle of pain seemed to be lifted 
out of him. A cool languor of delight flowed back 
through every vein, and he sank into a profound 
sleep. 


228 


THE LOST WORD 


III 

There is a slumber so deep that it annihilates 
time. It is like a fragment of eternity. Beneath its 
enchantment of Vacancy, a day seems like a thou- 
sand years, and a thousand years might well pass 
as one day. 

It was such a sleep that fell upon Hermas in 
the Grove of Daphne. An immeasurable period, 
^n interval of life so blank and empty that he 
could not tell whether it was long or short, had 
passed over him when his senses began to stir 
again, '^e setting sun was shooting arrows of 
gold under the glossy laurel-leaves. He rose and 
stretched his arms, grasping a smooth branch 
above him and shaking it, to make sure that he 
was alive. Then he hurried back toward Antioch, 
treading lightly as if on air. 

The ground seemed to spring beneath his feet. 
Already his life had changed, he knew not how. 

( Something that did not belong to him had dropped 
away; he had returned to a former state of being. 
gSQ 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
He felt as if anything might happen to him, and 
he was ready for anything. He was a new man, 
yet curiously familiar to himself — as if he had 
done with playing a tiresome part and returned to 
his natural state.^ He was buoyant and free, with- 
out a care, a doubt, a fear. 

As he drew near to his father’s house he saw a 
confusion of servants in the porch, and the old 
steward ran down to meet him at the gate. 

“Lord, we have been seeking you everywhere. 
The master is at the point of death, and has sent 
for you. Since the sixth hour he calls your name 
continually. Come to him quickly, lord, for I fear 
the time is short.” 

Hermas entered the house at once; nothing 
could amaze him to-day. His father lay on an 
ivory couch in the inmost chamber, with shrunken 
face and restless eyes, his lean fingers picking in- 
cessantly at the silken coverlet. 

“My son!” he murmured; “Hermas, my son! 
It is good that you have come back to me. I have 
missed you. I was wrong to send you away. You 
shall never leave me again. You are my son, my 
2S0 


THE LOST WORD 
heir. I have changed everything. Hermas, my son, 
come nearer — close beside me. Take my hand, my 
son 

The young inan obeyed, and, kneeling by the 
couch, gathered his father’s cold, twitching fingers 
in his firm,^'arm grasp. 

“Hermas, life is passing — long, rich, prosper- 
ous; the last sands, I cannot stay them. My re- 
ligion, a good policy — Julian was my friend. But 
now he is gone — where My soul is empty — noth- 
ing beyond — very dark — I am afraid. But you 
know something better. You found something that 
made you willing to give up your life for it — it 
must have been almost like dying — ^yet you were 
happy. What was it you found.? See, I am giv- 
ing you everything. I have forgiven you. Now 
forgive me. Tell me, what is it.? Your secret, your 
faith — give it to me before I go.” 

At the sound of this broken pleading a strange 
passion of pity and love took the young man by 
the throat. His voice shook a little as he answered 
eagerly : 

“Father, there is nothing to forgive. I am your 
231 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
jon; I will gladly tell you all that I know. I 
will give you the secret. Father, you must believe 
with all your heart, and soul, and strength 
in—” 

Where was the word — the word that he had 
been used to utter night and morning, the word 
that had meant to him more than he had ever 
known? What had become of it? 

He groped for it in the dark room of his mind. 
He had thought he could lay his hand upon it in a 
moment, but it was gone. Some one had taken it 
away. Everything else was most clear to him: the 
terror of death ; the lonely soul appealing from his 
father’s eyes ; the instant need of comfort and help. 
But at the one point where he looked for help he 
could find nothing; only an empty space. The 
word of hope had vanished. He felt for it blindly 
and in desperate haste. 

“Father, wait! I have forgotten something-^ 
it has slipped away from me. I shall find it in a 
moment. There is hope — I will tell you presently 
- — oh, wait!” 

The bony hand gripped his like a vice; the 
232 


THE LOST WORD 
glazed eyes opened wider. ‘‘Tell me,” whispered 
the old man; “tell me quickly, for I must go.” 

The voice sank into a dull rattle. The fingers 
closed once more, and relaxed. The light behind the 
eyes went out. 

Hermas, the master of the House of the Golden 
Pillars, was keeping watch by the dead. 

IV 

The break with the old life was as clean as if it 
had been cut with a knife. Some faint image of a 
hermit’s cell, a bare lodging in a back street of 
Antioch, a class-room full of earnest students, re- 
mained in Hermas’ memory I Some dull echo of the 
voice of John the Presbyter, and the measured 
sound of chanting, and the murmur of great con- 
gregations, still lingered in his ears; but it was 
like something that had happened to another per- 
son, something that he had read long ago, but 
of which he had lost the meaning. 

His new life was full and smooth and rich — too 
rich for any sense of loss to make itself felt. There 
233 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

were a hundred affairs to busy him, and the days 
ran swiftly by as if they were shod with winged 
sandals. 

Nothing needed to be considered, prepared for, 
begun. Everything was ready and waiting for 
him. All that he had to do was to go on. 

The estate of Demetrius was even greater than 
the world had supposed. There were fertile lands 
in Syria which the emperor had given him, mar- 
ble-quarries in Phrygia, and forests of valuable 
timber in Cilicia; the vaults of the villa contained 
chests of gold and silver; the secret cabinets in 
the master’s room were full of precious stones. The 
stewards were diligent and faithful. The servants 
of the household rejoiced at the young master’s re- 
turn. His table was spread; the rose-garland of 
pleasure was woven for his head ; his cup was over- 
flowing with the spicy wine of power. 

The period of mourning for his father came at 
a fortunate moment to seclude and safeguard him 
from the storm of political troubles and persecu- 
tions that fell upon Antioch after the insults of- 
«<,^ed by the people to the Imperial statues in thi' 
234 


THE LOST WORD 


year 387. The friends of Demetrius, prudent and 
conservative persons, gathered around Hermas and 
made him welcome to their circl^ Chief among 
them Was LibeCnius, the sophist, his nearest neigh- 
bour, whose daughter Athenais had been the play- 
mate of Hermas in the old days. 

He had left her a child. He found her a beauti- 
ful woman. ijVhat transformation is so magical, so 
charming, as this? To see the uncertain lines of 
youth rounded into firmness and symmetry, to dis- 
cover the half -ripe, merry, changing face of the 
girl matured into perfect loveliness, and looking 
at you with calm, clear, serious eyes, not forgetting 
the past, but fully conscious of the changed pres- 
ent — this is to behold a miracle in the flesh. 

“Where have you been, these two years?” said 
Athenais, as they walked together through the gar- 
den of lilies where they had so often played. 

“In a land of tiresome dreams,” answered Her- 
mas; “but you have wakened me, and I am never 
going back again.” 

It was not to be supposed that the sudden dis- 
appearance of Hermas from among his former as- 
235 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

sociates could long remain unnoticed. At first it 
was a mystery. There was a fear, for two or three 
days, that he might be lost. Some of his more in- 
timate companions maintained that his devotion 
had led him out into the desert to join the ancho- 
rites. But the news of his return to the House of 
the Golden Pillars, and of his new life as its 
master, filtered quickly through the gossip of the 
city. 

Then the church was filled with dismay and 
grief and reproach. Messengers and letters were 
sent to Hermas. They disturbed him a little, but 
they took no hold upon him. It seemed to him as 
if the messengers spoke in a strange language. As 
he read the letters there were words blotted out of 
the writing which made the full sense unintelli- 
gible. 

His old companions came to reprove him for 
leaving them, to warn him of the peril of apos- 
tasy, to entreat him to return. It all sounded vague 
and futile. They spoke as if he had betrayed or 
offended some one; but when they came to name 
the object of his fear — the one whom lie had dis- 
236 


THE LOST WORD 

pleased, and to whom he should return — ^he heard 
nothing ; there was a blur of silence in their speech. 
The clock pointed to the hour, but the bell did not 
strike) At last Hermas refused to see them any 
more. 

One day John the Presbyter stood in the atrium. 
Hermas was entertaining Libanius and Athenais in 
the banquet-hall. When the visit of the Presbyter 
was announced, the young master loosed a collar 
of gold and jewels from his neck, and gave it to 
his scribe. 

‘‘Take this to John of Antioch, and tell him it 
is a gift from his former pupil — as a token of re- 
membrance, or to spend for the poor of the city. 
I will always send him wLat he wants, but it is idle 
for us to talk together any more. I do not under- 
stand w^hat he says. I have not gone to the temple, 
nor offered sacrifice, nor denied his teaching. I 
have simply forgotten. I do not think about those 
things any longer. I am only living. A happy man 
wishes him all happiness and farewell.” 

But John let the golden collar fall on the mar- 
ble floor. “Tell your master that we shall talk to- 
237 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
gether again, in due time,” said he, as he passed 
sadly out of the hall. 

The love of Athenai's and Hermas was like a tiny 
rivulet that sinks out of sight in a cavern, but 
emerges again a bright and brimming stream. The 
careless comradery of childhood was mysteriously 
changed into a complete companionship. 

When Athenai’s entered the House of the Gol- 
den Pillars as a bride, all the music of life came 
with her. Hermas called the feast of her welcome 
“the banquet of the full chord.^ Day after day, 
night after night, week after week, month after 
month, the bliss of the home unfolded like a rose 
of a thousand leaves. When a child came to them, 
a strong, beautiful boy, worthy to be the heir of 
such a house, the heart of the rose was filled with 
overflowing fragrance. Happiness was heaped 
upon happiness. Every wish brought its own ac- 
complishment. Wealth, honour, beauty, peace, love 
• — it was an abundance of felicity so great that the 
soul of Hermas could hardly contain it. 

Strangely enough, it began to press upon him, 
to trouble him with the very excess of joy. He 
238 



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THE LOST WORD 

felt as if there were something yet needed to com- 
plete and secure it all. There was an urgency 
within him, a longing to find some outlet for his 
feelings, he knew not how — some expression and 
culmination of his happiness, he knew not what. 

Under his joyous demeanour a secret fire of rest- 
lessness began to burn — an expectancy of some- 
thing yet to come which should put the touch of 
perfection on his life. He spoke of it to Athenai's, 
as they sat together, one summer evening, in a 
bower of jasmine, with their boy playing at their 
feet. There had been music in the garden ; but now 
the singers and lute-players had withdrawn, leav- 
ing the master and mistress alone in the lingering 
twilight, tremulous with inarticulate melody of un- 
seen birds. There was a secret voice in the hour 
seeking vainly for utterance — a word waiting to be 
spoken. 

‘‘How deep is our happiness, my beloved!” said 
Hermas; “deeper than the sea that slumbers yon- 
der, below the city. And yet it is not quite full 
and perfect. There is a depth of joy that we have 
not yet known — a repose of happiness that is still 
239 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
beyond us. What is have no superstitions, like 
the king who cast his signet -ring into the sea be- 
cause he dreaded that some secret vengeance would 
fall on his unbroken good fortune. That was an 
idle terror. But there is something that oppresses 
me like an invisible burden. There is something 
still undone, unspoken, unfelt — something that we 
need to complete everything. Have you not felt it, 
too.^ Can you not lead me to it?” 

“Yes,” she answered, lifting her eyes to his 
face; “I, too, have felt it, Hermas,- -this burden, 
this need, this unsatisfied longing. I think I know 
what it means. It is gratitude — the language of 
the heart, the music of happiness. There is no per- 
fect joy without gratitude. But we have never 
learned it, and the want of it troubles us. It is like 
being dumb with a heart full of love. We must 
find the word for it, and say it together. Then we 
shall be perfectly joined in perfect joy. Come, my 
dear lord, let us take the boy with us, and give 
thanks.” 

Hermas lifted the child in his arms, and turned 
with Athenais into the depth of the garden. There 
240 


THE LOST WORD 


was a dismantled shrine of some forgotten fashion 
of worship half-hidden among the luxuriant flow- 
ers. A fallen image lay beside it, face downward in 
the grass. They stood there, hand in hand, the boy 
drowsily resting on his father’s shoulder. 

Silently the roseate light caressed the tall 
spires of the cypress-trees; silently the shadows 
gathered at their feet; silently the tranquil stars 
looked out from the deepening arch of heaven. The 
very breath of being paused. It was the hour of 
culmination, the supreme moment of felicity wait- 
ing for its crown^-The tones of Hermas were clear 
and low as he Jbegan, half -speaking and half-chant- 
ing, in the rhythm of an ancient song : 

“Fair is the world, the sea, the sky, the double 
kingdom of day and night, in the glow of morn- 
ing, in the shadow of evening, and under the drip- 
ping light of stars. 

“Fairer still is life in our breasts, with its mani- 
fold music and meaning, with its wonder of seeing 
and hearing and feeling and knowing and being. 

“Fairer and still more fair is love, that draws us 
together, mingles our lives in its flow, and bears 
241 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
them along like a river, strong and clear and swift, 
reflecting the stars in its bosom. 

“Wide is our world; we are rich; we have all 
things. Life is abundant within us — a measureless 
deep. Deepest of all is our love, and it longs to 
speak. 

“Come, thou final word ; Come, thou crown of 
speech ! Come, thou charm of peace ! Open the gates 
of our hearts. Lift the weight of our joy and bear 
it upward. 

“For all good gifts, for all perfect gifts, for 
love, for life, for the world, we praise, we bless, we 
thank — ” 

As a soaring bird, struck by an arrow, falls 
headlong from the sky, so the song of Hermas fell. 
At the end of his flight of gratitude there was 
nothing — a blank, a hollow space. 

He looked for a face, and saw a void. He sought 
for a hand, and clasped vacancy. His heart was 
throbbing and swelling with passion ; the bell 
swung to and fro within him, beating from side to 
side as if it would burst ; but not a single note came 
from it. All the fulness of liis feeling, that had 
242 


THE LOST WORD 

} 

risen upward like a fountain, fell back from the 
empty s;ky, as cold as snow, as hard as hail, frozen 
and deach^^here was no meaning in his happiness. 
No one had sent it to him. There was no one to 
thank for it. His felicity was a closed circle, a wall 
of icer* 

“Let us go back,” he said sadly to Athenais; 
“the child is heavy upon my shoulder. We will lay 
him to sleep, and go into the library. The air grows 
chilly. We were mistaken. The gratitude of life 
is only a dream. There is no one to thank.” 

And in the garden it was already night. 

V 

No outward change came to the House of the 
Golden Pillars. Everjdhing moved as smoothly, as 
delicately, as prosperously, as before. But in- 
wardly there was a subtle, inexplicable transfor- 
mation. A vague discontent, a final and inevitable 
sense of incompleteness, overshadowed existence 
from that night when Hermas realised that his 
joy could never go beyond itself. 

243 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

The next morning the old man whom he had 
seen in the Grove of Daphne, but never since, ap- 
peared m3"steriously at the door of the house, as if 
he had been sent for, and entered like an invited 
guest. 

Hennas could not but make him welcome, and 
at first he tried to regard him with reverence and 
affection as the one through whom fortune had 
come. But it was impossible. There was a chill in 
the inscrutable smile of Marcion, as he called him- 
self, that seemed to mock at reverence. He was in 
the house as one watching a strange experiment — 
tranquil, interested, ready to supply anything that 
might be needed for its completion, but thor- 
oughly indifferent to the feelings of the subject; 
an anatomist of life, looking curiously to see how 
long it would continue, and how it would act, after 
the heart had been removed. 

In his presence Hermas was conscious of a cer- 
tain irritation, a resentful anger against the calm, 
frigid scrutin^^ of the eyes that followed him 
everywhere, like a pair of spies, peering out over 
the smiling mouth and the long white beard. 

24 - 4 . 


THE LOST WORD 


“Why do you look at me so curiousl3^?” asked 
Hermas, one morning, as they sat together in 
the library. “Do you see anything strange in 
me?” 

“No,” answered Marclon ; “something familiar.” 

“And what is that?” 

“A singular likeness to a discontented young 
man that I met some ^^ears ago in the Grove of 
Daphne.” 

“But why should that interest you? Surely it 
was to be expected.” 

“A thing that we expect often surprises us when 
we see it. Besides, my curiosity is piqued. I sus- 
pect you of keeping a secret from me.” 

“You are jesting with me. There is nothing in 
my life that you do not know. What is the se- 
cret.?” 

“Nothing more than the wish to have one. You 
are growing tired of your bargain. The play 
wearies you. That is foolish. Do you want to try a 
new part?” 

The question was like a mirror upon which one 
comes suddenly in a half-lighted room. A quick 
245 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
illumination falls on it, and the passer-by is start 
led by the look of his own face. 

“You are right,” said Hermas. “I am tired. We 
have been going on stupidly in this house, as if 
nothing were possible but what my father had 
done before me. There is nothing original in be- 
ing rich, and well-fed, and well-dressed. Thou- 
sands of men have tried it, and have not been sat- 
isfied. Let us do something new. Let us make a 
mark in the world.” 

“It is well said,” nodded the old man; “you are 
speaking again like a man after my own heart. 
There is no folly but the loss of an opportunity to 
enjoy a new sensation.” 

From that day Hermas seemed to be possessed 
with a perpetual haste, an uneasiness that left him 
no repose. The summit of life had been attained, 
the highest possible point of felicity. Hencefor- 
ward the course could only be at a level — perhaps 
downward. It might be brief ; at the best it could 
not be very long. It was madness to lose a day, an 
hour. That would be the only fatal mistake: to 
forfeit anything of the bargain that he had made. 

246 


THE LOST WORD 


He would have it, and hold it, and enjoy it all to 
the full. The world might have nothing better to 
give than it had already given ; but surely it had 
many things that were new, and Marcion should 
help him to find them. 

Under his learned counsel the House of the Gol- 
den Pillars took on a new magnificence. Artists 
were brought from Corinth and Rome and Alexan- 
dria to adorn it with splendour. Its fame glittered 
around the world. Banquets of incredible luxury 
drew the most celebrated guests into its triclinium, 
and filled them with envious admiration. The bees 
swarmed and buzzed about the golden hive. The 
human insects, gorgeous moths of pleasure and 
greedy flies of appetite, parasites and flatterers and 
crowds of inquisitive idlers, danced and fluttered in 
the dazzling light that surrounded Hermas. 

Everything that he touched prospered. He 
bought a tract of land in the Caucasus, and emer- 
alds were discovered among the mountains. He sent 
a fleet of wheat-ships to Italy, and the price of 
grain doubled while it was on the way. He sought 
political favour with the emperor, and was re- 
247 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
warded with the governorship of the city. Hia 
name was a word to conjure with. 

The beauty of Athenai's lost nothing with the 
passing seasons, but grew more perfect, even un- 
der the inexplicable shade of dissatisfaction that 
sometimes veiled it. “Fair as the wife of Hermas” 
was a proverb in Antioch ; and soon men began to 
add to it, “Beautiful as the son of Hermas”; for 
the child developed swiftly in that favouring 
clime. At nine years of age he was straight and 
strong, firm of limb and clear of eye. Hi^ brown 
head was on a level with his father’s heart. He was 
the jewel of the House of the Golden Pillars; the 
pride of Hermas, the new Fortunatus. 

That year another drop of success fell into his 
brimming cup. His black Numidian horses, which 
he had been training for the world-renowned 
chariot-races of Antioch, won the victory over a 
score of rivals. Hermas received the prize carelessly 
from the judge’s hands, and turned to drive once 
more around the circus, to show himself to the 
people. He lifted the eager boy into the chariot 
beside him to share his triumph. 


THE LOST WORD 

Here, indeed, was the glory of his life — thi» 
matchless son, his brighter counterpart carved in 
breathing ivory, touching his arm, and balancing 
himself proudly on the swaying floor of the 
chariot. As the horses pranced around the ring, a 
great shout of applause filled the amphitheatre, 
and thousands of spectators waved their salutations 
of praise : “Hail, fortunate Hermas, master of 
success ! Hail, little Hermas, prince of good 
luck!” 

The sudden tempest of acclamation, the swift 
fluttering of innumerable garments in the air, 
startled the horses./They dashed violently forward, 
and plunged upon the bits. The left rein broke. 
They swerved to the right, swinging the chariot 
sideways with a grating noise, and dashing it 
against the stone parapet of the arena. In an in- 
stant the wheel was shattered. The axle struck the 
ground, and the chariot was dragged onward, 
rocking and staggering. 

By a strenuous effort Hermas kept his place on 
the frail platform, clinging to the unbroken rein. 
But the boy was tossed lightly from his side at the 
249 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
first shock. His head struck the wall. And when 
Hermas turned to look for him, he was lying like 
a broken flower on the sand. 

VI 

They carried the boy in a litter to the House of 
the Golden Pillars, summoning the most skilful 
physician, of Antioch to attend him. For hours the 
child was as quiet as death. Hermas watched the 
white eyelids, folded close like lily-buds at night, 
even as one watches for the morning. At last they 
opened; but the fire of fever was burning in the, 
eyes, and the lips were moving in a wild delirium.. 

Hour after hour that sweet childish voice rang 
through the halls and chambers of the splendid, 
helpless house, now rising in shrill calls of distress 
and senseless laughter, now sinking in weariness 
and dull moaning. The stars shone and faded; the 
sun rose and set ; the roses bloomed and fell in the 
garden; the birds sang and slept among the jas- 
mine-bowers. But in the heart of Hermas there was 
no song, no bloom, no light — only speechless an* 
250 


THE LOST WORD 

guish, and a certain fearful looking-for of deso- 
lation. 

He was like a man in a nightmare. He saw the 
shapeless terror that was moving toward him, but 
he was impotent to stay or to escape it. He had 
done all that he could. There was nothing left but 
to wait. 

He paced to and fro, now hurrying to the boy’s 
bed as if he could not bear to be away from it, 
now turning back as if he could not endure to be 
near it. The people of the house, even Athenai's, 
feared to speak to him, there was something so 
vacant and desperate in his face. 

At nightfall on the second of those eternal days 
he shut himself in the library. The unfilled lamp 
had gone out, leaving a trail of smoke in the air. 
The sprigs of mignonette and rosemary, with 
which the room was sprinkled every day, were un- 
renewed, and scented the gloom with close odours 
of decay. A costly manuscript of Theocritus was 
tumbled in disorder on the floor. Hermas sank into 
a chair like a man in whom the very spring of be- 
ing is broken. Through the darkness some one 
251 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

drew near. He did not even lift his head. A hand 
touched him; a soft arm was laid over his shoul- 
ders. It was Athenai’s, kneeling beside him and 
speaking very low : 

“Hermas — it is almost over — the child ! His 
voice grows weaker hour by hour. He moans and 
calls for some one to help him; then he laughs. 
It breaks my heart.' He has just fallen asleep. The 
moon is rising nowi Unless a change comes he can- 
not last till sunrise. Is there nothing we can do? 
Is there no power that can save him ? Is there no 
one to pity us and spare us? Let us call, let us 
beg for compassion and help; let us pray for his 
life!” 

Yes; this was what he wanted — this was the 
only thing that could bring relief : to pray ; to 
pour out his sorrow somewhere; to find a greater 
strength than his own and cling to it and plead 
for mercy and help. To leave this undone was to 
be false to his manhood; it was to be no better 
than the dumb beasts when their young perish. 
How could he let his boy suffer and die, without 
an effort, a cry, a prayer? 

252 


THE LOST WORD 
He sank on his knees beside Athenais. 

“Out of the depths — out of the depths we call 
for pity. The light of our eyes is fading — the 
child is dying. Oh, the child, the child! Spare the 
child’s life, thou merciful — ” 

Not a word; only that deatldy blank. The hands 
of Hennas, stretched out in supplication, touched 
the marble table. Tie felt the cool hardness of the 
polished stone beneath his fingers. A roll of papy- 
rus, dislodged by his touch, fell rustling to the 
floor. Through the open door, faint and far off, 
came the footsteps of the servants, moving cau- 
tiously. The heart of Hermas was hke a lump of 
ice in his bosom. He rose slowlj^ to his feet, lifting 
Athenais with him. 

“It is in vain,” he said; “there is nothing for 
us to do. Long ago I knew something. I think' it 
would have helped us. But I have forgotten it. It 
is all gone. But I would give all that I have, if I 
could bring it back again now, at this hourj in this 
time of- our bitter trouble.” 

A slave entered the room while he was speaking, 
and approached hesitatingly. 

253 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

“Master,” he said, “John of Antioch, whom we 
were forbidden to admit to the house, has come 
again. He would take no denial. Even now he 
waits in the peristyle; and the old man Marcion 
is with him, seeking to turn him away.” 

“Come,” said Hermas to his wife, “let us go to 
him.” 

In the central hall the two men were standing; 
Marcion, with disdainful eyes and sneering lips, 
taunting the unbidden guest; John, silent, quiet, 
patient, while the wondering slaves looked on in 
dismay. He lifted his searching gaze to the hag- 
gard face of Hermas. 

“My son, I knew that I should see you again, 
even though you did not send for me. I have come 
to you because I have heard that you are in 
trouble.” 

“It is true,” answered Hermas, passionately; 
“we are in trouble, desperate trouble, trouble ac- 
cursed. Our child is dying. We are poor, we are 
destitute, we ate afflicted. In all this house, in all 
the world, there is no one that can help us. I knew 
something long ago, when I was with you, — a 
254 


THE LOST WORD 
word, a name, — in which we might have found 
hope. But I have lost it. I gave it to this man. He 
has taken it away from me forever.” 

He pointed to Marcion. The old man’s lips 
curled scornfully. “A word, a name!” he sneered. 
“What is that, O most wise man and holy Pres» 
byter.? A thing of air, a thing that men make to 
describe their own dreams and fancies. Who would 
go about to rob any one of such a thing as that? 
It is a prize that only a fool would think of taking. 
Besides, the young man parted with it of his own 
free will. He bargained with me cleverly. I prom- 
ised him wealth and pleasure and fame. What did 
he give in return? An empty name, which was a 
burden — ” 

“Servant of demons, be still !” The voice of John 
rang clear, like a trumpet, through the hall. 
“There is a name which none shall dare to take in 
vain. There is a name which none can lose with- 
out being lost. There is a name at which the devils 
tremble. Go quickly, before I speak it!” 

Marcion shrank into the shadow of one of the 
pillars. A lamp near him tottered on its pedestal 
255 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
and fell with a crash. In the confusion he vanished, 
as noiselessly as a shade. 

John turned to Hermas, and his tone softened 
as he said: “My son, you have sinned deeper than 
you know. The word with which you parted so 
lightly is the keyword of all life. Without it the 
world has no meaning, existence no peace, death 
no refuge. It is the’ word that purifies love, and 
comforts grief, and keeps hope alive forever. It 
is the most precious word that ever ear has heard, 
or mind has known, or heart has conceived. It is 
the name of Him who has given us life and breath 
and all things richly to enjoy; the name of Him 
who, though we may forget Him, never forgets 
us ; the name of Him who pities us as you pity 
your suffering child; the name of Him who, 
though we w^ander far from Him, seeks us in the 
wilderness, and sent His Son, even as His Son has 
sent me this night, to breathe again that forgot- 
ten name in the heart that is perishing without it. 
Listen, my son, listen with all your soul to the 
blessed name of God our Father.” 

The cold agony in the breast of Hermas dis- 


THE LOST WORD 
solved like a fragment of ice that melts in the sum** 
mer...sear. A sense of sweet release spread through 
him from head to foot. The lost was found. The 
dew of peace fell on his parched soul, and the with- 
ering flower of human love raised its head again. 
He stood upright, and lifted his hands high toward 
heaven. 

“Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O 
Lord! O'ffly^God, be merciful to me, for my soul 
trusteth in Thee. My God, Thou hast given ; take 
not Thy gift away from me, O my God! Spare 
the life of this my child, O Thou God, ray Father, 
my Father!” 

A deep hush followed the cry. “Listen!” whis- 
pered Athenai’s, breathlessly. 

Was it an echo? It could not be, for it cam€ 
again — the voice of the child, clear and low, wak* 
from sleep, and calling: “Father!” 


I 


I’HE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 


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f 4'* n'. A i 1 4‘ • J I '.riiik. .-I I A.'y . 


rHE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 


I 

The day before Christmas, In the yeai of our 
Lord 722 . 

Broad snow-meadows glistening white along the 
banks of the river Moselle; steep hill-sides bloom- 
ing with mystic forget-me-not where the glow of 
the setting sun cast long shadows down their east- 
ern slope; an arch of clearest, deepest gentian 
bending overhead; in the centre of the aerial gar- 
den the walls of the cloister of Pfalzel, steel-blue 
to the east, violet to the west; silence over all, — a 
gentle, eager, conscious stillness, diffused through 
the air, as if earth and sky were hushing them- 
selves to hear the voice of the river faintly mur- 
muring down the valley. 

In the cloister, too, there was silence at the sun- 
set hour. All day long there had been a strange 
and joyful stir among the nuns. A breeze of cu- 
riosity and excitement had swept along the corri- 
Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner’s Sons 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
dors and through every quiet cell. A famous vis- 
itor had come to the convent. 

It was Winfried of England, whose name in the 
Roman tongue was Boniface, and whom men called 
the Apostle of Germany. A great preacher; a 
wonderful scholar; but, more than all, a daring 
traveller, a venturesome pilgrim, a priest of 
romance. 

He had left his home and his fair estate in Wes^ 
sex; he would not stay in the rich monastery of 
Nutescelle, even though they had chosen him as 
the abbot ; he had refused a bishopric at the court 
of King Karl. Nothing would content him but to 
go out into the wild woods and preach to the 
heathen. 

Through the forests of Hesse and Thuringia, 
and along the borders of Saxony, he had wandered 
for years, with a handful of companions, sleeping 
under the trees, crossing mountains and marshes, 
now here, now there, never satisfied with ease and 
comfort, always in love with hardship and danger. 

What a man he was! Fair and slight, but 
straight as a spear and strong as an oaken staff. 

262 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
His face was still young; the smooth skin was 
bronzed by wind and sun. His gray eyes, clean 
and kind, flashed like fire when he spoke of his ad- 
ventures, and of the evil deeds of the false priests 
with whom he contended. 

What tales he had told that day ! Not of mira- 
cles wrought by sacred relics; not of courts and 
councils and splendid cathedrals; though he knew 
much of these things. But to-day he had spoken of 
long journeyings by sea and land; of perils by 
fire and flood; of wolves and bears, and fierce 
snowstorms, and black nights in the lonely forest; 
of dark altars of heathen gods, and weird, bloody 
sacrifices, and narrow escapes from murderous 
bands of wandering savages. 

The little novices had gathered around him, and 
their faces had grown pale and their eyes bright 
as they listened with parted lips, entranced in ad- 
miration, twining their arms about one another’s 
shoulders and holding closely together, half in 
fear, half in delight. The older nuns had turned 
from their tasks and paused, in passing by, to hear 
the pilgrim’s story. Too well they knew the truth of 
263 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
what he spoke. Many a one among them had seen 
the smoke rising from the ruins of her father’s 
roof. Many a one had a brother far away in the 
wild country to whom her heart went out night and 
day, wondering if he were still among the living. 

But now the excitements of that wonderful day 
were over ; the hour of the evening meal had come ; 
the inmates of the cloister were assembled in the 
refectory. 

On the dais sat the stately Abbess Addula, 
daughter of King Dagobert, looking a princess 
indeed, in her purple tunic, with the hood and cuffs 
of her long white robe trimmed with ermine, and a 
snowy veil resting like a crown on her silver hair. 
At her right hand was the honoured guest, and at 
her left hand her grandson, the young Prince 
Gregor, a big, manly boy, just returned from 
school. 

The long, shadowy hall, with its dark-brown 
rafters and beams; the double row of nuns, with 
their pure veils and fair faces; the ruddy glow of 
the slanting sunbeams striking upward through 
the tops of the windows and painting a pink glow 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
high up on the walls, — it was all as beautiful as a 
picture, and as silent. For this was the rule of the 
cloister, that at the table all should sit in stillness 
for a little while, and then one should read aloud, 
while the rest listened. 

“It is the turn of my grandson to read to-day,” 
said the abbess to Winfried; “we shall see how 
much he has learned in the school. Read, Gregor; 
the place in the book is marked.” 

The lad rose from his seat and turned the pages 
of the manuscript. It was a copy of Jerome’s ver- 
sion of the Scriptures in Latin, and the marked 
place was in the letter of St. Paul to the Ephesians, 
— the passage where he describes the preparation 
of the Christian as a warrior arming for battle. 
The young voice rang out clearly, rolling the 
sonorous words, without slip or stumbling, to the 
end of the chapter. 

Winfried listened smiling. “That was bravely 
read, my son,” said he, as the reader paused. “Un- 
derstandest thou what thou readest.?” 

“Surely, father,” answered the boy; “it was 
taught me by the masters at Treves ; and we have 
265 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
read this epistle from beginning to end, so that I 
almost know it by heart.” 

Then he began to repeat the passage, turning 
away from the page as if to show his skill. 

But Winfried stopped him with a friendly lift- 
ing of the hand. 

“Not so, my son; that was not my meaning. 
When we pray, we speak to God. When we read, 
God speaks to us. I ask whether thou hast heard 
what He has said to thee in the common speech. 
Come, give us again the message of the warrior 
and his armour and his battle, in the mother- 
tongue, so that all can understand it.” 

The boy hesitated, blushed, stammered; then he 
came around to Winfried’s seat, bringing the 
book. “Take the book, my father,” he cried, “and 
read it for me. I cannot see the meaning plain, 
though I love the sound of the words. Religion 
I know, and the doctrines of our faith, and the life 
of priests and nuns in the cloister, for which my 
grandmother designs me, though it likes me little. 
And fighting I know, and the life of warriors and 
heroes, for I have read of it in Virgil and the an- 
266 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
cients, and heard a bit from the soldiers at Treves ; 
and I would fain taste more of it, for it likes me 
much. But how the two lives fit together, or what 
need there is of armour for a clerk in holy orders, 
I can never see. Tell me the meaning, for if there 
is a man in all the world that knows it, I am sure 
it is thou.” 

So Winfried took the book and closed it, clasp- 
ing the boy’s hand with his own. 

“Let us first dismiss the others to their vespers,” 
said he, “lest they should be weary.” 

A sign from the abbess ; a chanted benediction ; 
a murmuring of sweet voices and a soft rustling of 
many feet over the rushes on the floor ; the gentle 
tide of noise flowed out through the doors and 
ebbed away down the corridors; the three at the 
head of the table were left alone in the darkening 
room. 

Then Winfried began to translate the parable 
of the soldier into the realities of life. 

At every turn he knew how to flash a new 
light into the picture out of his own experience. 
He spoke of the combat with self, and of the 
267 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
wrestling with dark spirits in solitude. He spoke 
of the demons that men had worshipped for 
centuries in the wilderness, and whose malice they 
invoked against the stranger who ventured into 
the gloomy forest. Gods, they called them, and 
told weird tales of their dwelling among the im- 
penetrable branches of the oldest trees and in the 
caverns of the shaggy hills; of their riding on 
the wind-horses and hurling spears of lightning 
against their foes. Gods they were not, but foul 
spirits of the air, rulers of the darkness. Was there 
not glor}’^ and honour in fighting them, in daring 
their anger under the shield of faith, in putting 
ihem to flight with the sword of truth What bet- 
ter adventure could a brave man ask than to go 
forth against them, and wrestle with them, and 
conquer them.? 

“Look you, my friends,” said Winfried, “how 
sweet and peaceful is this convent to-night! It is 
a garden full of flowers in the heart of winter; a 
nest among the branches of a great tree shaken 
by the winds ; a still haven on the edge of a tem- 
pestuous sea. And this is what religion means for 
268 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 

those who are chosen and called to quietude and 
prayer and meditation. 

“But out yonder in the wide forest, who knows 
what storms are raving to-night in the hearts of 
men, though all the woods are still? who knows 
what haunts of wrath and cruelty are closed to- 
night against the advent of the Prince of Peace? 
And shall I tell you what religion means to those 
who are called and chosen to dare, and to fight, 
and to conquer the world for Christ? It means 
to go against the strongholds of the adversary. 
It means to struggle to win an entrance for the 
Master, every where. What helmet is strong enough 
for this strife save the helmet of salvation? What 
breastplate can guard a man against these fiery 
darts but the breastplate of righteousness? What 
shoes can stand the wear of these journeys but the 
preparation of the gospel of peace?” 

“Shoes?” he cried again, and laughed as if a 
sudden thought had struck him. He thrust out his 
foot, covered with a heavy cowhide boot, laced 
high about his leg w'ith thongs of skin. 

“Look here, — how a fighting man of the cross w 

269 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

shod ! I have seen the boots of the Bishop of Tours, 
— white kid, broidered with silk ; a day in the bogs 
would tear them to shreds. I have seen the sandals 
that the monks use on the highroads, — ^yes, and 
worn them; ten pair of them have I worn out and 
thrown away in a single journey. Now I shoe my 
feet with the toughest hides, hard as iron ; no rock 
can cut them, no branches can tear them. Yet more 
than one pair of these have I outworn, and many 
more shall I outwear ere my journeys are ended. 
And I think, if God is gracious to me, that I shall 
die wearing them. Better so than in a soft bed 
with silken coverings. The boots of a warrior, a 
hunter, a woodsman, — these are my preparation of 
the gospel of peace. 

“Come, Gregor,” he said, laying his brown hand 
on the youth’s shoulder, “come, wear the forester’s 
boots with me. This is the life to which we are 
called. Be strong in the Lord, a hunter of the 
demons, a subduer of the wilderness, a woodsman 
of the faith. Come.” 

The boy’s eyes sparkled. He turned to his 
grandmother. She shook her head vigorously, 

270 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 

“Nay, father,” she said, “draw not the lad away 
from my side with these wild words. I need him to 
help me with my labours, to cheer my old age.” 

“Do you need him more than the Master does?” 
asked Winfried ; “and will you take the wood that 
is fit for a bow to make a distaff?” 

“But I fear for the child. Thy life is too hard 
for him. He will perish with hunger in the woods.” 

“Once,” said Winfried, smiling, “we were 
camped on the bank of the river Ohru. The table 
was set for the morning meal, but my comrades 
cried that it was empty; the provisions were ex- 
hausted; we must go without breakfast, and per- 
haps starve before we could escape from the 
wilderness. While they complained, a fish-hawk 
flew up from the river with flapping wings, and 
let fall a great pike in the midst of the camp. 
There was food enough and to spare ! Never have 
I seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed beg- 
ging bread.” 

“But the fierce pagans of the forest,” cried the 
abbess, — “they may pierce the boy with their ar- 
rows, or dash out his brains with their axes. He is 
271 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
but a child, too young for the danger and the 
strife.” 

“A child in years,” replied Winfried, “but a 
man in spirit. And if the hero fall early in the bat- 
tle, he wears the brighter crown, not a leaf with- 
ered, not a flower fallen.” 

The aged princess trembled a little. She drew 
Gregor close to her side, and laid her hand gently 
on his brown hair. 

“I am not sure that he wants to leave me yet. 
Besides, there is no horse in the stable to give him, 
now, and he cannot go as befits the grandson of a 
king.” 

Gregor looked straight into her eyes. 

“Grandmother,” said he, “dear grandmother, If 
thou wilt not give me a horse to ride with this man 
of God, I will go with him afoot.” 


II 

Two years had passed since that Chrlstmas-eve 
in the cloister of Pfalzel. A little company of pil- 
grims, less than a score of men, were travelling 
272 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
slowly northward through the wide forest that 
rolled over the hills of central Germany. 

At the head of the band marched Winfried, 
clad in a tunic of fur, with his long black robe girt 
high above his waist, so that it might not hinder 
his stride. His hunter’s boots were crusted with 
snow. Drops of ice sparkled like jewels along the 
thongs that bound his legs. There were no other 
ornaments of his dress except the bishop’s cross 
hanging on his breast, and the silver clasp tha^ 
fastened his cloak about his neck. He carried >». 
strong, tall staff in his hand, fashioned at the top 
into the form of a cross. 

Close beside him, keeping step like a familial 
comrade, was the young Prince Gregor. Long 
marches through the wilderness had stretched his 
legs and broadened his back, and made a man of 
him in stature as well as in spirit. His jacket and 
cap were of wolf-skin, and on his shoulder he car- 
ried an axe, with broad, shining blade. He was a 
mighty woodsman now, and could make a spray 
of chips fly around him as he hewed his way 
through the trunk of a pine-tree. 

273 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

Behind these leaders followed a pair of team- 
sters, guiding a rude sledge, loaded with food and 
the equipage of the camp, and drawn by two big, 
shaggy horses, blowing thick clouds of steam from 
their frosty nostrils. Tiny icicles hung from the 
hairs on their lips. Their flanks were smoking. 
They sank above the fetlocks at every step in the 
soft snow. 

Last of all came the rear guard, armed with 
bows and javelins. It was no child’s play, in those 
days, to cross Europe afoot. 

The weird woodland, sombre and illimitable, 
covered hill and vale, table-land and mountain- 
peak. There were wide moors where the wolves 
hunted in packs as if the devil drove them, and 
tangled thickets where the lynx and the boar made 
their lairs. Fierce bears lurked among the rocky 
passes, and had not yet learned to fear the face 
of man. The gloomy recesses of the forest gave 
shelter to inhabitants who were still more cruel and 
dangerous than beasts of prey, — outlaws and 
sturdy robbers and mad were-wolves and bands of 
wandering pillagers. 


274f 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 


The pilgrim who would pass from the mouth 
of the Tiber to the mouth of the Rhine must trust 
in God and keep his arrows loose in the quiver. 

The travellers were surrounded by an ocean of 
trees, so vast, so full of endless billows, that it 
seemed to be pressing on every side to overwhelm 
them. Gnarled oaks, with branches twisted and 
knotted as if in rage, rose in groves like tidal 
waves. Smooth forests of beech-trees, round and 
gray, swept over the knolls and slopes of land in 
a mighty ground-swell. But most of all, the mul- 
titude of pines and firs, innumerable and monoto- 
nous, with straight, stark trunks, and branches 
woven together in an unbroken flood of darkest 
green, crowded through the valleys and over the 
hills, rising on the highest ridges into ragged 
crests, like the foaming edge of breakers. 

Through this sea of shadows ran a narrow 
stream of shining whiteness, — an ancient Roman 
road, covered with snow. It was as if some great 
ship had ploughed through the green ocean long 
ago, and left behind it a thick, smooth wake of 
foam. Along this open track the travellers held 
^75 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


their way, — ^heavily, for the drifts were deep ; 
warily, for the hard winter had driven many packs 
of wolves down from the moors. 

The steps of the pilgrims were noiseless; but 
the sledges creaked over the dry snow, and the 
panting of the horses throbbed through the still 
air. The pale-blue shadows on the western side of 
the road grew longer. The sun, declining through 
its shallow arch, dropped behind the tree-tops. 
Darkness followed swiftly, as if it had been a bird 
of prey waiting for this sign to swoop down upon 
the world. 

“Father,” said Gregor to the leader, “surely 
this day’s march is done. It is time to rest, and 
eat, and sleep. If we press onward now, we can- 
not see our steps ; and will not that be against the 
word of the psalmist David, who bids us not to 
put confidence in the legs of a man?” 

Winfried laughed. “Nay, my son Gregor,” said 
he, “thou hast tripped, even now, upon thy text. 
For David said only, T take no pleasure in the 
legs of a man.’ And so Say I, for I am not minded 
to spare thy legs or mine, until we come farthei 
276 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 


on our way, and do what must be done this night. 
Draw thy belt tighter, my son, and hew me out this 
tree that is fallen across the road, for our camp- 
ground is not here.” 

The youth obeyed; two of the foresters sprang 
to help him; and while the soft fir-wood yielded 
to the stroke of the axes, and the snow flew from 
the bending branches, Winfried turned and spoke 
to his followers in a cheerful voice, that refreshed 
them like wine. 

“Courage, brothers, and forward yet a little! 
The moon will light us presently, and the path is 
plain. Well know I that the journey is weary; 
and my own heart wearies also for the home in 
England, where those I love are keeping feast this 
Christmas-eve. But we have work to do before we 
feast to-night. For this is the Yuletide, and the 
heathen people of the forest are gathered at the 
thunder-oak of Geismar to worship their god, 
Thor. Strange things will be seen there, and 
deeds which make the soul black. But we are 
sent to lighten their darkness; and we will teach 
our kinsmen to keep a Christmas with us such as 
§77 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
the woodland has never known. Forward, then, and 
stiffen up the feeble knees !” 

A murmur of assent came from the men. Even 
the horses seemed to take fresh heart. They flat- 
tened their backs to draw the heavy loads, and blew 
the frost from their nostrils as they pushed ahead. 

The night grew broader and less oppressive. A 
gate of brightness was opened secretly somewhere 
in the sky. Higher and higher swelled the clear 
moon-flood, until it poured over the eastern wall 
of forest into the road. A drove of wolves howled 
faintly in the distance, but they were receding, 
and the sound soon died away. The stars sparkled 
merrily through the stringent air ; the small, round 
moon shone like silver; little breaths of dreaming 
wind wandered across the pointed fir-tops, as the 
pilgrims toiled bravely onward, following their 
clew of light through a labyrinth of darkness. 

After a while the road began to open out a little. 
There were spaces of meadow-land, fringed with 
alders, behind which a boisterous river ran clash- 
ing through spears of ice. 

Rude houses of hewn logs appeared in the open* 
278 



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ings, each one casting a patch of inky shadow 
upon the snow. Then the travellers passed a larger 
group of dwellings, all silent and unlighted ; 
and beyond, they saw a great house, with many 
outbuildings and inclosed courtyards, from which 
the hounds bayed furiously, and a noise of stamp- 
ing horses came from the stalls. But there was 
no other sound of life. The fields around lay naked 
to the moon. They saw no man, except that once, 
on a path that skirted the farther edge of a 
meadow, three dark figures passed them, running 
very swiftly. 

Then the road plunged again into a dense 
thicket, traversed it, and climbing to the left, 
emerged suddenly upon a glade, round and level 
except at the northern side, where a hillock was 
crowned with a huge oak-tree. It towered above 
the heath, a giant with contorted arms, beckoning 
to the host of lesser trees. “Here,” cried Win- 
fried, as his eyes flashed and his hand lifted his 
heavy staff, “here is the Thunder-oak; and here 
the cross of Christ shall break the hammer of the 
false god Thor.” 


279 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


III 

Withered leaves still clung to the branches of 
the oak: torn and faded banners of the departed 
summer. The bright crimson of autumn had long 
since disappeared, bleached away by the storms 
and the cold. But to-night these tattered rem- 
nants of glory were red again : ancient blood- 
stains against the dark-blue sky. For an immense 
fire had been kindled in front of the tree. Tongues 
of ruddy flame, fountains of ruby sparks, ascended 
through the spreading limbs and flung a fierce 
illumination upward and around. The pale, pure 
moonlight that bathed the surrounding forests was 
quenched and eclipsed here. Not a beam of it sifted 
through the branches of the oak. It stood like a 
pillar of cloud between the still light of heaven and 
the crackling, flashing fire of earth. 

But the fire itself was invisible to Winfried and 
his companions. A great throng of people were 
gathered around it in a half-circle, their backs to 
the open glade, their faces toward the oak. Seen 


280 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
against that glowing background, it was but thi 
silhouette of a crowd, vague, black, formless, mys 
terious. 

The travellers paused for a moment at the edge 
of the thicket, and took counsel together. 

“It is the assembly of the tribe,” said one of the 
foresters, “the great night of the council. I heard 
of it three days ago, as w’^e passed through one of 
the villages. All who swear by the old gods have 
been summoned. They will sacrifice a steed to the 
god of war, and drink blood, and eat horse-flesh 
to make them strong. It will be at the peril of our 
lives if we approach them. At least we must hide 
the cross, if we would escape death.” 

“Hide me no cross,” cried Winfried, lifting his 
staff, “for I have come to show it, and to make 
these blind folk see its power. There is more to 
be done here to-night than the slaying of a steed, 
and a greater evil to be stayed than the shameful 
eating of meat sacrificed to idols. I have seen it 
in a dream. Here the cross must stand and be our 
rede.” 

At his command the sledge was left in the border 
2SX 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
of the wood, with two of the men to guard it, and 
the rest of the company moved forward across the 
open ground. They approached unnoticed, for all 
the multitude were looking intently toward the fire 
at the foot of the oak. 

Then Winfried’s voice rang out, “Hail, ye sons 
of the forest! A stranger claims the warmth of 
your fire in the winter night.” 

Swiftly, and as with a single motion, a thou- 
sand eyes were bent upon the speaker. The semi- 
circle opened silently in the middle; Winfried 
entered with his followers; it closed again behind 
them. 

Then, as they looked round the curving ranks, 
they saw that the hue of the assemblage was not 
black, but white, — dazzling, radiant, solemn. 
White, the robes of the women clustered together 
at the points of the wide crescent ; white, the glit- 
tering byrnies of the warriors standing in close 
ranks ; white, the fur mantles of the aged men who 
held the central palace in the circle; white, with 
the shimmer of silver ornaments and the purity of 
lamb’s-wool, the raiment of a little group of chil- 
28 ^ 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
dren who stood close by the fire; white, with awe 
and fear, the faces of all who looked at them; and 
over all the flickering, dancing radiance of the 
flames played and glimmered like a faint, vanish- 
ing tinge of blood on snow. 

The only figure untouched by the glow was the 
old priest, Hunrad, with his long, spectral robe, 
flowing hair and beard, and dead-pale face, who 
stood with his back to the fire and advanced slowly 
to meet the strangers. 

“Who are you.^^ Whence come you, and what 
seek you here.?” 

“Your kinsman am I, of the German brother- 
hood,” answered Winfried, “and from England, 
beyond the sea, have I come to bring you a greet- 
ing from that land, and a message from the All- 
Father, whose servant I am.” 

“Welcome, then,” said Hunrad, “welcome, kins- 
man, and be silent ; for what passes here is too high 
to w’ait, and must be done before the moon crosses 
the middle heaven, unless, indeed, thou hast some 
sign or token from the gods. Canst thou work 
miracles .?” 


283 


THE BLUE FLOWER 

The question came sharply, as if a sudden gleam 
of hope had flashed through the tangle of the old 
priest’s mind. But Winfried’s voice sank lower and 
a cloud of disappointment passed over his face as 
he replied: “Nay, miracles have I never wrought, 
though I have heard of many ; but the All-Father 
has given no power to my hands save such as be- 
longs to common man.” 

“Stand still, then, thou common man,” said 
Hunrad, scornfully, “and behold what the gods 
have called us hither to do. This night is the 
death-night of the sun-god, Baldur the Beautiful, 
beloved of gods and men. This night is the hour 
of darkness and the power of winter, of sacriflce 
and mighty fear. This night the great Thor, the 
god of thunder and war, to whom this oak is 
sacred, is grieved for the death of Baldur, and 
angry with this people because they have forsaken 
his worship. Long is it since an offering has been 
laid upon his altar, long since the roots of his 
holy tree have been fed with blood. Therefore its 
leaves have withered before the time, and its 
boughs are heavy with death. Therefore the Slavs 

; 


284 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
and the Wends have beaten us in battle. Therefore 
the harvests have failed, and the wolf -hordes have 
favaged the folds, and the strength has departed 
from the bow, and the wood of the spear has 
broken, and the wild boar has slain the huntsman. 
Therefore the plague has fallen on our dwellings, 
and the dead are more than the living in all our 
villages. Answer me, ye people, are not these 
things true? ” 

A hoarse sound of approval ran through the 
circle. A chant, in which the voices of the men and 
women blended, like the shrill wind in the pine- 
trees above the rumbling thunder of a waterfall, 
rose and fell in rude cadences. 

O ThoVf the Thunderer^ 

Mighhj and merciless^ 

Spare us from smiting! 

Heave not thy hammer. 

Angry, against us; 

Plague not thy people. 

Take from our treasure 
Richest of ransom. 

Silver we send thee, 


285 


THE BLUE FLOW EH 

Jewels and javelins f 
' Goodliest garments, 

All our possessions, 

Priceless, we proffer. 

Sheep will we slaughter. 

Steeds will we sacrifice; 

Bright blood shall bathe thfi^ 

0 tree of Thunder, 

Life-foods shall lave thee. 

Strong wood of wonder. 

Mighty, have mercy. 

Smite us no more. 

Spare ns and save us. 

Spare us, Thor! Thor I 

With two great shouts the song ended, and a 
:^illness followed so intense that the crackling of 
the fire was heard distinctly. The old priest stood 
silent for a moment. His shaggy brows swept down 
over his eyes like ashes quenching flame. Then he 
lifted his face and spoke. 

“None of these things will please the god. 
More costly is the offering that shall cleanse your 
fin, more precious the crimson dew that shall send 


THE FIRST CHRIST MAS-TREE 
new life into this holy tree of blood. Thor claims 
3^our dearest and your noblest gift.” 

Hunrad moved nearer to the group of chil- 
dren who stood watching the fire and the swarms of 
spark-serpents darting upward. They had heeded 
none of the priest’s words, and did not notice now 
that he approached them, so eager were they to 
see which fiery snake would go highest among the 
oak branches. Foremost among them, and most in- 
tent on the pretty game, was a boy like a sun- 
beam, slender and quick, with blithe brown eyes 
and laughing lips. The priest’s hand was laid upon 
his shoulder. The boy turned and looked up in his 
face. 

“Here,” said the old man, with his voice vibrat- 
ing as when a thick rope is strained by a ship 
swinging from her moorings, “here is the chosen 
one, the eldest son of the Chief, the darling of the 
people. Hearken, Bernhard, wilt thou go to Val- 
halla, where the heroes dwell with the gods, to bear 
a message to Thor.?” 

The boy answered, swift and Clear: 

“Yes, priest, I will go if my father bids me. Jfe 
9^7 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


lit far away? Shall I run quickly? Must 1 take m. 
bow and arrows for the wolves?” 

The boy’s father, the Chieftain Gundhar, stand* 
ing among his bearded warriors, drew his breath 
deep, and leaned so heavily on the handle of his 
spear that the wood cracked. And his wife, Irma, 
bending forward from the ranks of women, pushed 
the golden hair from her forehead with one hand. 
The other dragged at the silver chain about her 
neck until the rough links pierced her flesh, and 
the red drops fell unheeded on her breast. 

A sigh passed through the crowd, like the mur 
mur of the forest before the storm breaks. Yet m 
one spoke save Hunrad: 

‘‘Yes, my Prince, both bow and spear shalt then 
have, for the way is long, and thou art a brave 
huntsman. But in darkness thou must journey foi 
a little space, and with eyes blindfolded. Fearest 
thou ?” 

“Naught fear I,” said the boy, “neither dark- 
ness, nor the great bear, nor the were-wolf. For 
I am Gunhar’s son, and the defender of my 



It poised for an instant above the child’s fair head — death cruel and imminent 





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rilE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 


Then the priest led the child in his raiment of 
lamb’s-wool to a broad stone in front of the fire. 
He gave him his little bow tipped with silver, and 
his spear with shining head of steel. He bound 
the child’s eyes with a white cloth, and bade him 
kneel beside the stone with his face to the east. 
Unconsciously the wide arc of spectators drew in- 
ward toward the centre, as the ends of the bow 
draw together when the cord is stretched. Win- 
fried moved noiselessly until he stood close behind 
the priest. 

The old man stooped to lift a black hammer of 
stone from the ground, — the sacred hammer of the 
god Thor. Summoning all the strength of his with- 
ered arms, he swung it high in the air. It poised 
for an instant above the child’s fair head — then 
turned to fall. 

One keen cry shrilled out from where the women 
stood : ‘‘Me ! take me ! not Bernhard !” 

The flight of the mother toward her child was 
swift as the falcon’s swoop. But swifter still was 
the hand of the deliverer. 

Winfried’s heavy staff thrust mightily against 
289 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


the hammer’s handle as it fell. Sideways it glanced 
from the old man’s grasp, and the black stone, 
striking on the altar’s edge, split in twain. A shout 
of awe and joy rolled along the living circle. The 
branches of the oak shivered. The flames leaped 
higher. As the shout died away the people saw the 
lady Irma, with her arms clasped round her child, 
and above them, on the altar-stone, Winfried, his 
face shining like the face of an angel. 

IV 

A SWIFT mountain-flood rolling down its channel; 
a huge rock tumbling from the hill-side and falling 
in mid-stream: the baffled waters broken and con- 
fused, pausing in their flow, dash high against the 
rock, foaming and murmuring, with divided im- 
pulse, uncertain whether to turn to the right or the 
left. 

Even so Winfried’s bold deed fell into the midst 
of the thoughts and passions of the council. They 
were at a standstill. Anger and wonder, reverence 
and joy and confusion surged through the crowd. 

290 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
They knew not which way to move: to resent the 
intrusion of the stranger as an insult to their 
gods, or to welcome him as the rescuer of their 
prince. 

The old priest crouched by the altar, silent. 
Conflicting counsels troubled the air. Let the sac- 
rifice go forward; the gods must be appeased. 
Nay, the boy must not die; bring the chieftain’s 
best horse and slay it in his stead; it will be 
enough ; the holy tree loves the blood of horses. Not 
so, there is a better counsel yet; seize the stranger 
whom the gods have led hither as a victim and 
make his life pay the forfeit of his daring. 

The withered leaves on the oak rustled and whis- 
pered overhead. The fire flared and sank again. 
The angry voices clashed against each other and 
fell like opposing waves. Then the chieftain Gund- 
har struck the earth with his spear and gave his 
decision. 

“All have spoken, but none are agreed. There 
is no voice of the council. Keep silence now, and 
let the stranger speak. His words shall give us 
judgment, whether he is to live or to die.” 

291 


THE BLUE FLOWER 


Winfried lifted himself high upon the altar, 
drew a roll of parchment from his bosom, and began 
to read. 

‘‘A letter from the great Bishop of Rome, who 
sits on a golden throne, to the people of the forest, 
Hessians and Thuringians, Franks and Saxons. 
In nomin Domini^ sanctae et individuae Tri/nitatis, 
amenr* 

A murmur of awe ran through the crowd. 
*‘It is the sacred tongue of the Romans ; the 
tongue that is heard and understood by the 
wise men of every land. There is magic in it. 
Listen !” 

Winfried went on to read the letter, translating 
it into the speech of the people. 

‘‘We have sent unto you our Brother Boniface, 
and appointed him your bishop, that he may teach 
you the only true faith, and baptise you, and 
lead you back from the ways of error to the 
path of salvation. Hearken to him in all things 
like a father. Bow your hearts to his teaching. 
He comes not for earthly gain, but for the gain 
of your souls. Depart from evil works. Worship 

292 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
not the false gods, for they are devils. Offer nu 
more bloody sacrifices, nor eat the flesh of horses, 
but do as our Brother Boniface commands you. 
Build a house for him that he may dwell among 
you, and a church where you may offer your pray- 
ers to the only living God, the Almighty King of 
Heaven.” 

It was a splendid message : proud, stron tj, peace- 
ful, loving. The dignity of the words imposed 
mightily upon the hearts of the people. They were 
quieted as men who have listened to a lofty strain 
of music. 

“Tell us, then,” said Gundhar, “what is the word 
that thou bringest to us from the Almighty ? What 
is thy counsel for the tribes of the woodland on 
this night of sacrifice?” 

“This is the word, and this is the counsel,” an- 
swered Winfried. “Not a drop of blood shall fall 
to-night, save that which pity has drawn from the 
breast of your princess, in love for her child. Not 
a life shall be blotted out in the darkness to-night; 
but the great shadow of the tree which hides you 
from the light of heaven shall be swept away. For 
293 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
this is the birth-night of the white Christ, son of 
the All-Father, and Saviour of mankind. Fairer 
is He than Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin 
the Wise, kinder than Freya the Good. Since He 
has come to earth the bloody sacrifice must cease. 
The dark Thor, on whom 3"ou vainly call, is dead. 
Deep in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. 
His power in the world is broken. Will you serve 
a helpless god? See, my brothers, you call this 
tree his oak. Does he dwell here? Does he protect 
it?” 

A troubled voice of assent rose from the throng. 
The people stirred uneasily. Women covered their 
eyes. Hunrad lifted his head and muttered hoarse- 
ly, “Thor ! take vengeance ! Thor !” 

Winfried beckoned to Gregor. “Bring the axes, 
thine and one for me. Now, young woodsman, show 
thy craft! The king-tree of the forest must fall, 
and swiftly, or all is lost !” 

The two men took their places facing each other, 
one on each side of the oak. Their cloaks were flung 
aside, their heads bare. Carefully they felt the 
ground with their feet, seeking a firm grip of the 

294 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
earth. Firmly they grasped the axe-helves and 
swung the shining blades. 

“Tree-god!” cried Winfried, “art thou angry? 
Thus we smite thee!” 

“Tree - god !” answered Gregor, “art thou 
mighty? Thus we fight thee!” 

Clang! clang! the alternate strokes beat time 
upon the hard, ringing wood. The axe-heads glit- 
tered in their rhythmic flight, like fierce eagles 
circling about their quarry. 

The broad flakes of wood flew from the deepen- 
ing gashes in the sides of the oak. The huge trunk 
quivered. There was a shuddering in the branches. 
Then the great wonder of Winfried’s life came to 
pass. 

Out of the stillness of the winter night, a mighty 
rushing noise sounded overhead. 

Was it the ancient gods on their white battle- 
steeds, with their black hounds of wrath and their 
arrows of lightning, sweeping through the air to 
destroy their foes? 

A strong, whirling wind passed over the tree- 
tops. It gripped the oak by its branches and tore 
295 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
it from the roots. Backward it fell, like a ruined 
tower, groaning and crashing as it split asunder 
in four great pieces. 

Winfried let his axe drop, and bowed his 
head for a moment in the presence of almighty 
power. 

Then he turned to the people, “Here is the tim- 
ber,” he cried, “already felled and split for your 
new building. On this spot shall rise a chapel to 
the true God and his servant St. Peter. 

“And here,” said he, as his eyes fell on a young 
fir-tree, standing straight and green, with its top 
pointing toward the stars, amid the divided ruins 
of the fallen oak, “here is the living tree, with no 
stain of blood upon it, that shall be the sign of 
your new worship. See how it points to the sky. 
Call it the tree of the Christ-child. Take it up 
and carry it to the chieftain’s hall. You shall go 
no more into the shadows of the forest to keep your 
feasts with secret rites of shame. You shall keep 
them at home, with laughter and songs and rites 
of love. The thunder-oak has fallen, and I think 
the day is coming when there shall not be a home 
296 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 

in all Germany wlicre the children are not gath- 
ered around the green fir-tree to rejoice in the 
birth-night of Christ.” 

So they took the little fir from its place, and car- 
ried it in joyous procession to the edge of the 
glade, and laid it on the sledge. Tlie horses tossed 
their heads and drew their load bravely, as if the 
new burden had made it liglitiu*. 

When they came to the house of Gundhar, he 
bade them throw open the doors of the hall and 
set the tree in the midst of it. They kindled lights 
among the branches until it seemed to be tangled 
full of fire-flies. The children encircled it, wonder- 
ing, and the sweet odour of the balsam filled the 
house. 

Then Winfried stood beside the chair of 
Gundhar, on the dais at the end of the hall, and 
told the story of Bethlehem; of the babe in the 
manger, of the shepherds on the hiUs, of the host 
of angels and tlieir midnight song. All the people 
listened, charmed into stillness. 

But the boy Bernhard, on Irma’s knee, folded 
in her soft arms, grew restless as the story length* 
297 


THE BLUE FLOWER 
ened, and began to prattle softly at his mother’? 
ear. 

“Mother,” whispered the child, “why did you 
cry out so loud, when the priest was going to send 
me to Valhalla?” 

“Oh, hush, my child,” answered the mother, and 
pressed him closer to her side. 

“Mother,” whispered the boy again, laying his 
finger on the stains upon her breast, “see, your 
dress is red! What are these stains? Did some one 
hurt you?” 

The mother closed his mouth with a kiss, 
“Dear, be still, and listen!” 

The boy obeyed. His eyes were heavy with sleep. 
But he heard the last words of Winfried as he 
spoke of the angelic messengers, flying over the 
hills of Judea and singing as they flew. The child 
wondered and dreamed and listened. Suddenly his 
face grew bright. He put his lips close to Irma’s 
cheek again. 

“Oh, mother!” he whispered very low, “do not 
speak. Do you hear them? Those angels have come 
back again. They are singing now behind the tree.” 

298 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE 
And some say that it was true; but others say 
that it was only Gregor and his companions at the 
lower end of the hall, chanting their Christmas- 
hymn: 

All glory be to God on high. 

And on the earth be peace ! 

Good-mil, henceforth, from heaven to imm 
Begin and never cease. 


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